


One Night with the King

by coma_grey



Series: Aurvandil [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Dubcon/noncon situations, Execution, Humor, Implied Future Mpreg, Imprisonment to begin with, Intersex Loki, Jötunn Loki, Learning to be a good king and husband Thor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Not evil just mean sometimes Loki, Odin and Frigga are actually kind of good parents, Racism, Romance, Sexism/misogyny, Talk of genocide, Treason, Violence, Virginity, aftermath of war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 111,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coma_grey/pseuds/coma_grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a foolish night of drunkenness, the young King Thor is on a search for a new queen, this time a commoner that the people of Asgard can rise behind and love as one of their own. All Aesir youth who are of age and pass the initial tests of beauty, virginity, and fertility are to be housed in the king’s harem where they will be groomed and trained for potential queenship. After one year’s time, the king will then spend a single night with each of the chosen youth in order to choose his queen.</p><p>The strangest youth in competition for the crown? A lying, thieving, mysterious trickster known only by the name of Loki.</p><p>Little does the House of Odin know that Loki is neither Aesir nor a commoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt on Norsekink and based off the Book of Esther and the film "One Night with the King."
> 
> Yes, I am combining a Biblical story with Thorki. Why? Because I do what I want, Thor, and because both are awesome. That being said, the series title has nothing to do with the character in Norse Mythology of the same name, nor is it a reference to Lucifer.
> 
> Note that while some of the tags make this story seem darker than it actually is, there are disturbing themes throughout. If I haven't tagged something that should be tagged or warned for something that should be warned about, just let me know. 
> 
> Kind, constructive criticism is very welcomed, and comments/kudos are always much appreciated!

Blood.

 

It is everywhere — thick and red and jarring against the white of Jotunheim, staining the floors and walls of the capital city and stripping the ice and snow of its purity. The stench of it permeates the air and, carried by the harsh wind, makes it difficult to breathe.

 

In one of the hidden temples that has yet to be desecrated by the enemy, the blood of the king is dripping from Angrboda’s hands, nearly causing the newborn infant to fall from his slippery hold. “Hush,” Angrboda says gently as he wipes the fussy child down, removing all traces of red except for that in its teary eyes.

 

“Our dam is still bleeding,” the crown prince Helblindi says, and Angrboda looks over to see blood still trickling down Laufey’s legs at a worryingly steady pace.

 

“Hold the child,” Angrboda instructs Byleistr, passing off the babe to the second prince before moving to the figure lying on the slab of stone that once served as an altar.

 

“It’s no use,” Laufey rasps weakly, but Angrboda ignores him as his hands begin to call on his seidr. He places one hand at Laufey’s sex and the other on his belly before he starts his healing chants. Helblindi tries his best to comfort his dam while Angrboda works, smoothing his furrowed brow and rubbing his shoulders.

 

Laufey should be delirious, but his eyes painfully slide over to the newborn trying to wrestle its way out of Byleistr’s arms. “Byleistr, bring…” he trails off. Understanding, Byleistr walks around to Helblindi’s side and carefully passes the child to Laufey’s weak arms.

 

“He is… small,” Helblindi says, though not unkindly.

 

“He is beautiful,” Laufey corrects, looking down in wonder at the tiny being that has begun to relax in his hold, as a child recognizing its true mother often does. “Angrboda, come closer.”

 

“But your majesty -“

 

“Please.”

 

Angrboda reluctantly pauses his healing attempts to come stand on the other side of Laufey. The dying monarch looks up at Angrboda with eyes much clearer than they should be. “Will you obey one last command from your king?”

 

Angrboda crosses an arm over his chest. “Anything.”

 

“Take my youngest and escape to another realm.”

 

“We can take care of him,” Byleistr protests. “I can -“

 

“No, Byleistr,” Laufey interrupts. “He must do this. The child is too small to survive in Jotunheim, and you and Helblindi cannot look after him and rule at the same time. And I can’t risk the All-Father finding him.” Laufey smiles down at the child, whose wide eyes are still flitting across his dam’s face in curiosity. “After all, he is destined for greatness. Farbauti told me he would be, and he was right. I can feel it.”

 

“Where shall I take him?” Angrboda finally asks.

 

“Asgard. Use seidr to make yourselves look Asgardian.”

 

Helblindi and Byleistr look horrified, but Angrboda nods in understanding. “Hiding in plain sight.”

 

“When the war is over and he is of age, you can both return to Jotunheim, but for now –“

 

“Dam –“

 

“Surely we can –“

 

“No, my children.” Laufey’s eyes are starting to become hazy, but his gaze remains locked on Angrboda. “You will do this? Protect my youngest?”

 

“With my life,” Angrboda swears. “I will raise him as my nephew and return him to his siblings someday when it is safe.”

 

Satisfied, Laufey nods. Byleistr goes to take the child from him, but Laufey shakes his head. “Please, let me hold him a moment longer.”

 

“What shall our sibling be called?” Helblindi asks.

 

Laufey takes a while to respond, deep in thought as he stares at the child. Finally, he answers, “Loptr.”

 

“Air,” Angrboda realizes after a moment.

 

Laufey smiles weakly. “Come to life in the stillness of death.”

 

A sweet sound emanates from the child, and it takes Laufey a second to recognize the sound for what it is: laughter. It has been a long time since laughter has been heard on Jotunheim, and the sound is as strange as it is welcome. Loptr’s toothless grin is infectious, and Laufey allows his tiny hand to reach up and touch his dam’s face.

 

While Laufey whispers in his youngest’s ears, Angrboda blinks back tears and looks up at Helblindi and Byleistr, which he soon finds to be a mistake. The princes look on the verge of death themselves, exhaustion evident in their stances and sadness pouring from their souls. Jotunheim is a warrior culture — much like Asgard, but far more severe because while Asgard’s officials train their warriors to conquer, the land of Jotunheim forces its people to survive — and tears are usually seen as a sign of weakness. But here, in the center of a hidden temple with their dying dam and a newborn sibling who never stood a chance, Helblindi and Byleistr do nothing to brush away the tears falling from their eyes like snowflakes.

 

“Angrboda,” Laufey murmurs, and the healer looks back to his king to see him kissing and nuzzling Loptr’s face one last time. When Laufey at last hands him the child, Angrboda slips outside the room in order to let Helblindi and Byleistr give their last goodbyes in private.

 

Afraid he would start crying at being taken from his dam, Angrboda is surprised when Loptr merely nestles in his arms and begins to fall asleep. When Helblindi’s sobbing becomes louder and Byleistr lets out a mournful wail that can only mean one thing, Angrboda looks down at the sleeping child in his arms and begins to weep.

 

* * *

  

“Where will you go?” Helblindi asks.

 

Angrboda looks to where Laufey’s body is buried beneath the ice next to his mate and then to the child currently in Byleistr’s hold. “Asgard.”

 

“Do you think that’s wise?”

 

“The king said –“

 

“Laufey was dying. He was dying, and then he suffered through induced labor. He was delirious.”

 

“But he was right! The All-Father will never think to look for us amongst his own people. But if word gets out that the pregnant king gave birth before he died, Odin _will_ search Jotunheim and the other realms.”

 

“And Heimdall, their watcher? What of him?”

 

“I can hide us from his sight with seidr. And Prince Loptr is the size of an Asgardian infant, so it’s likely that he’ll grow up to be around the size of an adult Aesir. He will blend in.”

 

Helblindi purses his lips. “How will you get there?”

 

“There are many secret pathways along Yggdrasil into all of the realms, even Asgard. I happen to know of one that will work.” Angrboda nods towards Loptr. “May I?”

 

Byleistr hands over the child, and Angrboda first uses seidr on himself, allowing smooth, sun-kissed Aesir skin to cover his scarred Jotun blue, white eyeballs and brown irises to replace the redness of his eyes, and a slightly darker shade of brown hair to grow on his head. A moment later he removes a few feet from his height and brings his chest and shoulders in slightly to make his body match the build of a tall but mostly average Asgardian male. But before he can cast a similar glamour on Loptr, a pale white immediately begins to spread across the child’s skin from where Angrboda’s bare hand is touching his face. Angrboda looks down into happy blue-green eyes before looking up at Helblindi and Byleistr in surprise. “It appears Prince Loptr is a natural shape-shifter,” he informs them. “This is good. I won’t have to exert myself with holding up glamours for both of us.”

 

“Our sire was right,” Byleistr says, and Helblindi turns to him in surprise. The middle child of Laufey has barely spoken since the king’s death. “Our sibling is destined for greatness. He must be.”

 

Angrboda nods in agreement before allowing their Jotun forms to return to protect them from the cold. “Shape-shifting is rare, especially for an infant not even a week old. I can already feel some type of magic flowing through his veins… strange, but potent.”

 

“He may not be of size, but he will be powerful nonetheless,” Helblindi states, looking at Loptr with fondness. “We have one final request of you, Angrboda.”

 

“Anything, my princes.”

 

“Do not lie to him about his heritage. Tell him about us, about his dam and his sire, and about Jotunheim. Tell him that we will not be separated forever, and that we will send for him — for both of you — someday.”

 

“I will,” Angrboda vows.

 

Helblindi and Byleistr take turns clasping Angrboda’s shoulder before leaning down to kiss Loptr’s forehead. Then, without another word, they turn to make their way down the mountain to where several Jotnar soldiers are waiting for them. They never once look back.

 

Angrboda stands in front of Laufey and Farbauti’s grave a moment longer, staring down at where the two Jotuns are buried together in a lover’s hold, in each other’s arms for eternity. He feels a stab of pain at the reminder that Loptr will never know his parents, but he cannot help but smile a little, knowing that they are watching over their child even now.

 

Before leaving, he walks over to the edge of a cliff and looks down over the valley littered with corpses. From up this high, things look even worse for his beloved realm, and Angrboda wonders if it will survive this war.

 

Allowing one last tear to fall for Jotunheim, Angrboda clutches Loptr to his chest and slips into the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I won't be able to update so quickly, but I wanted to go ahead and post this chapter now. To all of you who commented, gave kudos, etc. on the prologue, thank you so, so much! I was really nervous about posting this story at all, but your responses have been so encouraging to me :]

The southeast corner of Asgard’s capital city is a dark spot of tarnish in a shining sea of gold. Despite the thriving marketplace, where everything from fine silks and colorful fabrics to fresh fish and exotic fruits are sold and traded from other parts of Asgard and the nine realms, many citizens live in poverty; because of it, criminals thrive.

 

To be a merchant in the southeast market, one must have sharp eyes and a keen sense of hearing to make sure no one — whether seasoned criminal or starving beggar — steals their product the second their back is turned.

 

But for Loki, all it takes is a little magic.

 

One of the merchants is selling apples — red, green, and yellow, of all different sizes. Loki has his eye on a particular yellow apple, especially large and almost golden in color. The smell of the apples, faint yet unmistakable, wafts over to where Loki is pretending to look at dates. Licking his lips, he can almost taste the delicious fruit.

 

The merchant in particular is a tricky one, a regular in the southeast market and skilled with spotting thieves. Loki saw him catch a thief once, and the poor bastard’s hand was cut off for his trouble. Loki thought it barbaric, as did many who witnessed it and heard the starving man’s screams, but justice rarely makes its way to this corner of the capital, and nobody dared challenge the merchant.

 

Until today, that is. Loki is not sure why he is doing this, exactly; maybe he wants to avenge the one-handed man, or perhaps he wishes to prove something, even if only to himself. Mostly he is just bored and wants an apple.

 

As the merchant’s sharp eyes move towards Loki’s direction, Loki quickly pulls the hood of his black cloak over his head. Then, with a subtle wave of his hand, one of the barrels of apples topples over, and the merchant predictably starts cursing and stoops to gather the fallen fruit. As soon as he does, Loki walks by and pockets the apple of his desire, trying and failing not to smirk terribly hard as he steps over the mess he made for the merchant to clean up.

 

Once he is a safe distance away, Loki climbs up onto a low building’s roof and sinks his teeth into the yellow apple. The skin of the fruit is crisp, the insides sweet, and Loki moans softly in appreciation. While snacking, he sits with his legs dangling off the edge of the roof and watches the bustle of the market below him, alternating between laughing at rich vendors getting cheated by greedy merchants and greedy merchants getting cheated by sly customers. He stops laughing, though, whenever he sees a beggar being kicked and turned away.

 

He stays on the rooftop until the sun begins to set before climbing down. On his way out of the market, he steals a handful of the dates from earlier and a loaf of bread from another merchant, both of which he gives to the two starving little boys — brothers, most likely — that he often sees hanging around the market. Then he begins the long trek home, through the southeast gates and down several quiet roads until he reaches the little cottage almost hidden in the edge of the great forest. By this time, the sun’s light has disappeared, leaving the evening sky an alluring dark blue dotted with shining stars and far-off moons.

 

Unbothered by the chilly air, as always, Loki stalls entering the warmth of the cottage in order to pet Svadilfari, his and Angrboda’s horse, who is currently still being allowed to roam in front of the tiny stable they built for him. “Poor thing,” Loki tells it, petting its long, black flanks. “Such a beautiful, powerful stallion, reduced to hefting around Angrboda for a living.”

 

Angrboda sticks his head out the kitchen window. “I heard that!”

 

Ignoring Angrboda, Loki continues conversationally, “You don’t even have any equine friends to play with. But I know how you feel; I don’t have any friends, either. Angrboda won’t let me.”

 

Hearing a scoff and faded mutterings as Angrboda’s head retreats, Loki smiles and nuzzles Svadilfari’s nose. “At least we have each other, Svad,” he whispers into his fur before planting a kiss to his nose.

 

After putting up Svadilfari for the night, Loki heads inside to find Angrboda still in the kitchen. “Where have you been?” his uncle asks while chopping vegetables.

 

“Exploring,” Loki replies while shedding his cloak, hoping Angrboda will assume he means the forest. As usual, Angrboda does, and Loki smiles mischievously as soon as his back is turned.

 

“By the way,” Angrboda calls while Loki is washing his hands in the tiny downstairs washroom, “I have to go back to the palace later tonight. I’ll probably be there until morning.”

 

“Why?” Loki asks. He quickly dries his hands and returns to the kitchen to frown at Angrboda.

 

“King Thor is having a huge feast for his warriors tonight. Apparently Queen Jarnsaxa is having her own feast for the female warriors as well.”

 

“And this pertains to you how, exactly? You’re a healer, not a server. Can’t the damn king pour his own drink?” Angrboda’s eyes immediately begin darting around the room subconsciously, and Loki sighs. “He can’t hear me, uncle. Not even Heimdall himself can hear us, remember? Or have you forgotten what our combined power of seidr can do?”

 

Angrboda glares at him. “It matters not. Eir has ordered me to come back, and so I shall.”

 

“They must need you for hangovers in the morning.” This gets a snort of confirmation from Angrboda. “Poor Svadilfari,” Loki laments as he gathers the necessary dishes to set the table. “I just tucked him in and everything.”

 

“What about poor Angrboda? I swear, your love for that horse is unnatural. I’m surprised you two haven’t mated yet.”

 

“I may as well mate with him considering I’ll never have any other prospects. We’d make a beautiful foal, Svad and I.”

 

“Loki!” Angrboda cries, though he smiles fondly upon hearing his nephew’s laughter.

 

Dinner is a mostly quiet affair, though the silence is comfortable as it always is between them. After Angrboda departs with Svadilfari, Loki locks the doors and windows and takes his time cleaning the table before dousing all the lights and heading upstairs.

 

Once bathed for the night, he lies awake in his bed, staring out his bedroom window at the palace in the distance. Towering above all other buildings in Asgard and reflecting the light of the moons and stars beautifully, the home of King Thor and Odin and Frigga looks much closer to Loki’s bedroom than it actually is. Smiling, Loki reaches out a pale hand and imagines that his fingers are almost close enough to touch the shimmering gold.

 

He wonders what his own palace looks like.

  

* * *

 

“More mead!” King Thor yells late into the night, prompting a new round of cheers from the warriors seated around him.

 

“Don’t you think we’ve had enough?” one foolish warrior dares to ask.

 

Everyone in the private banquet hall pauses momentarily before erupting in laughter. “Enough mead?” Thor cries. “This poor fellow thinks we’ve had enough mead!” Said poor fellow flushes in embarrassment.

 

“No such thing as enough mead!” Volstagg exclaims heartily, patting his rotund midsection and letting out a belch that goes unnoticed by his drunken friends.

 

“Oh come now, the poor fellow is but a young chap,” Fandral reasons.

 

“But as his elders, we must teach him,” Hogun says wisely.

 

“Aye,” Thor agrees. “Next round goes to our youngest warrior here!” More cheering ensues, and the young warrior grins, his worries completely forgotten. “And where is that damned server with our mead?!”

 

As the distressed server returns with more mead, Thor notices a lecherous grin overcoming Fandral’s face. “My friend, in case you haven’t noticed, there are no women present here tonight,” he informs him.

 

“And why is that?” Fandral asks. More men around them quiet down, interested in the conversation. “We have food, drink, and laughter — why not pleasurable company as well?”

 

“Hear, hear!” one warrior shouts. Many others nod.

 

Thor shakes his head fondly. “The women are currently having their own feast with the queen. You all know this!”

 

“But why must we segregate like animals?” Fandral asks.

 

“You say that as if women are our equals,” one warrior points out, and many of them laugh.

 

“Well, they _are_ fairer than us, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“None more so than my queen,” Thor states proudly.

 

“We rarely even see her anymore,” Hogun says.

 

“He’s right!” Volstagg says. “Why is that, Thor?”

 

Thor smirks. “She tires easily.” Many catcalls follow his statement.

 

Fandral leans in with a leer. “Show us.”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

“My friends, I am drunk, ‘tis true, but I am not drunk enough for that. And Jarnsaxa would never agree to such a thing.”

 

“But you’re the king,” Volstagg points out.

 

“She can’t refuse you,” Hogun adds.

 

Thor looks around at the table and sees the interested looks on his men’s’ faces — some with longing, others with mere jealousy at the thought of Thor being the one to take the beautiful Jarnsaxa every night.

 

Thor takes another swig of mead.

 

* * *

  

Harsh light floods into the bedroom, rousing the All-Father and All-Mother from their sleep.

 

“What is it?” Odin asks, sitting up wearily.

 

The distressed servant in the doorway bows his head. “Your majesties, I am sorry for disturbing you like this.”

 

“What has happened?” Frigga asks, but Odin can tell by the resigned and unhappy tone of her voice that she already knows the answer.

 

“It is Queen Jarnsaxa, your majesties. She has been banished.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the response to this story has been wonderful. Thank you all so much!

“I cannot believe you were so foolish!” Odin bellows, his voice echoing throughout the throne room. “What were you thinking?!”

 

Frigga sits on the steps beside her son, holding a cool rag to his forehead and running a hand through his blonde locks despite looking ready to strangle him.

 

“I wasn’t,” Thor answers surly. “I was drunk.”

 

“Clearly,” Odin snaps, “though you probably would've done the same if you had been sober.”

 

Thor lifts his head to glare at Odin. “I am the king, and my wife wouldn’t obey me! All of Asgard’s best warriors were there watching me… what was I supposed to do?”

 

“You were supposed to act like a king! Not like the rash, reckless, arrogant prince we hoped you had outgrown. I thought crowning you king would turn you a into a man, but it has only made you more of a child!”

 

Thor swats Frigga’s hands away from him and stands to face Odin. “How dare you speak to the king that way!”

 

“That is exactly what he’s referring to!” Frigga yells, standing up as well. Thor stares at his normally gentle, soft-spoken mother in shock. “We are your parents, Thor, and we are still a king and queen of Asgard, despite Hlidskjalf currently belonging to you. We gave you that throne, and do not think for one second that we nor the people of Asgard can’t take it away from you.”

 

“You can’t –“

 

“Let me finish! Your father would _never_ do to me what you have done to Jarnsaxa tonight. Your father has always respected me, treated me as his equal in public and behind closed doors. He knows better than to speak ill of me in front of his fellow warriors, and he would _never_ command me to do something so base and perverted, let alone banish me for it.”

 

“Your mother is right, Thor,” Odin says, coming to stand next to his wife. “Marriage is a partnership; one spouse is not supposed to lord over the other like a master would a slave. We raised you better than this.”

 

Thor looks ready to continue fighting for a moment, but he eventually accepts defeat. “What must I do?” he asks weakly.

 

“Divorce her,” Odin says.

 

Thor recoils, horrified. “But I –“

 

“What? Love her?” Frigga looks at him incredulously. “Do you think us so simple to believe such a lie? Or are you the one simple enough to believe it?” At Thor’s confused look, she rolls her eyes. “You have never truly loved Jarnsaxa, Thor. You were once besotted with her, yes, but as soon as you became king and your ego took over, she became your possession, yet another thing to control and brag about. Bringing her back now, to a place she never wanted to be in the first place, will shame her even more than you already have.”

 

Thor collapses onto the steps again, closing his eyes briefly. “I never wanted…”

 

“We know, my son,” Odin says quietly. “But you did.”

 

“We’ll need a new queen,” Frigga says, more to her husband than to Thor.

 

Odin scratches his beard. “Yes. Perhaps this will be a chance for Thor to redeem himself, prove worthy of the throne he commands.”

 

Thor looks up at them. “Who? There are currently no eligible royals as far as I’m aware of, nor can I think of anyone born into nobility who would be suitable. There’s Sif, but she’s my friend and a warrior…”

 

“Yes, no warriors,” Frigga says. “We need someone who will actually enjoy being queen.”

 

“That would be ideal,” Odin agrees.

 

“How about…” Thor trails off when he comes up short, but his parents look at him expectantly.

 

“Is there someone you fancy, son?” Odin asks.

 

“No, not really,” he answers honestly.

 

“Might I suggest an idea?”

 

The royal family looks up to see Tyr making his way towards them. Thor had forgotten he was even in the room with them. “Ah yes, the head advisor to the crown should have some good ideas,” Odin says.

 

Frigga nods. “Please tell us, Tyr.”

 

Tyr looks at Thor, considering. “What if you choose neither a noble nor a warrior?”

 

“A commoner?” Thor asks, his tone unable to conceal his distaste for the idea.

 

“There are many beautiful Aesir youth who can be trained to serve as queen. And think of how endearing the public would find this.”

 

Frigga hums. “It would be like one of their own was serving them.”

 

“And they can be molded into the perfect queen, which we will desperately need after the news of tonight’s events spread come morning.”

 

“It will also endear Thor to the pubic again,” Odin adds.

 

“Precisely,” Tyr says.

 

Thor looks ready to protest, but the hardened stares of his parents and the steady and wise gaze of Tyr stills his tongue.

 

“We must round up every available female and intersexed male who is of age,” Frigga says.

 

Thor startles. “Male?”

 

“Anyone who can give birth will be considered.”

 

“ _Male_?”

 

“Many Aesir intersexed males are able to give birth, Thor,” Frigga explains with another long-suffering sigh. “Did we not have this talk years ago?”

 

Thor flushes hotly. “I only remember asking about _females_!”

 

Frigga ignores him and turns back to Odin and Tyr. “We will make sure they are beautiful and untouched, rid Thor’s harem of concubines –“

 

“What?!”

 

“And board them there. Tyr, you and I will appoint the appropriate people to be in charge of this and begin preparations immediately.”

 

“Mother –“

 

“We must help your image, remember?” Frigga tells him. “The public will lose their trust in you after tonight. They’ll need to know that you’re faithful, to the throne as well as to your wife.”

 

“They are right, my liege,” Tyr says gently. “We’re fortunate enough that Jarnsaxa was only queen for less than a year and bore you no children, and that the public did not have enough time to fall in love with her; but this new queen must be different. Not only does your image depend on it, but the people of Asgard need a queen they can stand behind and love and trust.”

 

“As do you, Thor,” Odin adds.

 

Thor sags, defeated. “Then let it be done.”

  

* * *

  

“Have you heard about Queen Jarnsaxa?” one young man asks, leaning against a building with his arms crossed.

 

“I heard she isn’t queen anymore,” says his companion. “I wonder what she did.”

 

“My father said it’s because she wouldn’t have sex with King Thor in front of his men,” a third boy walks over and adds.

 

The first boy nods. “I’d divorce her, too. Ungrateful whore.”

 

Their laughter turns into high-pitched yelps as dirt suddenly starts raining over their heads. When they are finally able to look up, they see nothing but a near-empty potted plant dangling precariously from an open window.

 

People around them laugh in surprise, taking in their dirt-covered skin and clothes. One of the boys shakes his head like a wet animal, causing more dirt to go flying out of his hair. “Who did this?” he yells.

 

A spice merchant nearby chuckles and shakes his head but refrains from answering.

 

Unsatisfied, the first boy looks around, sharp eyes searching for a familiar head of raven-black hair. He spots it quickly enough. “There he is!”

 

“Damn,” Loki says before taking off running. His lithe form slithers through the crowd with ease, and his long legs and knowledge of the streets give him a clear advantage.

 

However, since the boys chasing him have no problems with shoving people out of their way, they eventually catch up to him and corner him just inside an alley.

 

“You thought you could run from us, ergi?” one of them taunts.

 

Loki shrugs. “It usually works.”

 

“Coward,” another spits.

 

“What do you expect from a magic user?” the third points out before clenching his fists and taking a step closer to Loki.

 

Raising his hands in mock-surrender, Loki takes a step back. “Now, now. Must we resort to violence already?”

 

“What do you suggest?” the first exclaims. “We are _covered_ in dirt because of you!”

 

“I suggest you wash your clothes before they stain.”

 

“My mother is going to kill me,” the second moans, and Loki is unable to hold back a snort.

 

“Argr freak,” the third snarls. “Lying, thieving, bastard –“

 

“Silvertongue, Trickster, Liesmith,” Loki finishes for him with a sigh. “I’ve heard it all before, you know.”

 

“You are ergi,” the second taunts. “You even look like a girl!”

 

Loki brings a hand to his chest and smiles sweetly. “Are you saying I’m pretty?”

 

“You’re just like your uncle,” the first says, and Loki’s eyes narrow. “He does woman’s work for a living, doesn’t he?”

 

“He’s a healer in the palace,” is Loki’s clipped reply.

 

“Therefore he’s ergi,” the third says. “Just like you.”

 

Loki’s grin is deadly as sparks of green begin to fly from his fingers.

 

* * *

  

Angrboda storms inside their home, letting the door slam shut behind him. “Loki!” he yells.

 

Sitting up on his bed, Loki straightens his clothes and runs a hand through his hair, trying to make himself look slightly more presentable as his uncle hurries up the stairs, footsteps echoing through the entire cottage. By the time Angrboda is entering Loki’s room, his nephew is sitting with his hands folded neatly in his lap, an innocent expression on his face.

 

“Loki! I heard you where in a fight! What were you –“ And then Angrboda sees the blackened eye. “Oh, Loki,” he murmurs.

 

“I healed most of it already,” Loki says, looking down at his freshly healed knuckles. “Black eyes are harder to heal.”

 

Angrboda goes to sit beside him. “Bruises can be difficult. Here, turn your head towards me. Relax.” Loki is quiet while Angrboda heals him with his seidr. Less than a minute later, Angrboda pulls back. “There. Good as new.”

 

“Thank you, uncle,” Loki says while standing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me –“

 

Angrboda grabs his wrist and pulls him back down. “Not so fast. Tell me what happened. Who did this to you? And how did you provoke them?”

 

Loki scowls. “Why do you always think I provoke these kinds of things?”

 

“Because you usually do.” At Loki’s sharp look, Angrboda sighs. “I’m not saying you deserve it, Loki; of course I’m not. But if you’d only stay out of the city and out of trouble like I tell you to –“

 

“How did you even know I was in a fight?” Loki interrupts, not wanting to hear the same lecture again.

 

“The father of one of the boys serves in the palace.”

 

“Oh. I guess that explains how he knew you.”

 

“What?”

 

Loki hesitates. “They… they called you ergi.” At Angrboda’s silence, Loki continues, “It’s one thing when they call me that — I’m used to it, really — but for them to insult _you_ –“

 

This time Loki is cut off as Angrboda pulls him into a hug. “Oh, my sweet nephew.”

 

“Uncle?”

 

“You don’t have to defend me, Loki. I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, after all.”

 

Loki quickly pulls back from their embrace. “You do protect me, uncle!”

 

Angrboda smiles sadly. “Clearly not enough, my prince.”

 

Loki frowns at the title but nestles against Angrboda’s chest, allowing his uncle to properly hold him like he has not done in years. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says as Angrboda’s arms fold around him. “I promise.”

 

Angrboda holds him and says nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go.

The announcement is sent out to all of Asgard the next day, declaring that all beautiful Aesir youth who are of age will soon be summoned to the palace, where King Thor will choose one of them to be his new queen.

 

Said king has been in the training courtyard ever since, taking out his anger on any poor, unsuspecting warrior who is unfortunate enough to catch his eye. Currently it is Volstagg who is on the receiving end of the king’s wrath.

 

“Come on, Volstagg!” Thor roars with an almost manic grin, his lips stretched too-tightly across his normally handsome face. “Really fight me!”

 

Fandral and Hogun watch wide-eyed from the sidelines, fearful for their friend but wisely not saying anything.

 

“Thor, you fight like a Jotun beast,” Volstagg wheezes, one hand clutching his heaving chest as he and Thor circle one another.

 

Then Thor lunges, and Volstagg barely has time to block his strike. “And you move like a bilgesn–“

 

“Thor!!!”

 

Thor abruptly spins around, paying no mind to Volstagg’s cry of pain upon Thor’s elbow hitting his face. “Sif! You’re back!” When he sees the calm yet deadly expression on his friend’s face, his grin promptly fades. He clutches his sword a little tighter.

 

“Your mother sent word of what happened, so I came home immediately,” Sif explains as she stalks towards them. “My training with the Valkyries can wait until the… affairs of Asgard are in order again.”

 

“Sif –“

 

“Thor, what were you thinking?!” Sif cries, her anger turning into exasperation.

 

“I already had this talk with my parents,” Thor says bitterly, before sighing and dropping his sword. “But I cannot apologize enough, it seems.”

 

“No, you really cannot.” As Thor steps out of the fighting ring and walks over to her, she continues, “Not only did you dishonor Jarnsaxa, but you dishonored your mother, myself, and every woman in Asgard!”

 

“I know,” Thor says softly. “I am sorry, Sif.”

 

Sif sighs and looks away, but she nods after a moment. “I know you are. You are a good man, Thor. You have always treated me like your equal, supported me, stood behind me when others looked down on me for my sex.” Thor smiles, and Sif looks back at him. “Why could you not do the same for your wife?”

 

Thor’s smile slips from his face again. “I was drunk and made a mistake… a terrible mistake.”

 

“Stop making excuses for yourself,” Sif snaps. “I’ve seen you drunk many times, and you’ve never done anything this stupid while inebriated before.”

 

“You’re right,” Thor says after a moment. “And I know I can never take back what I did to Jarnsaxa… but I intend to make this right.”

 

“Yes, so we’ve heard,” Fandral says gleefully, walking over with Hogun.

 

Thor rolls his eyes. “We all know you wish it were you, Fandral.”

 

Sif looks as if she wants to say more but refrains, laughing along with the others instead. Thor, however, knows this conversation is not yet over if the tightness around her eyes is anything to go by.

 

A tired and sore Volstagg stumbles over to them, holding a cloth to his bleeding nose. “Yes, Fandral, don’t be jealous that Thor will soon have scores of maidens to choose from when you can barely find one who is able to tolerate your presence.”

 

“How did you manage that?” Thor asks Volstagg, gesturing towards his nose.

 

Volstagg scowls at him.

 

“Why should I be jealous? I’ll simply employ the good king’s former concubines,” Fandral says, winking at Thor.

 

Sif smirks. “Oh yes. Tell us, Thor, how pleased is the All-Mother now that her son’s concubines are gone?”

 

“Ecstatic,” Thor deadpans, before shuffling his feet and muttering, “She’s always looked for a way to get rid of them.”

 

“If she had known it was this easy, she probably would have banished you-know-who months ago,” Fandral jokes, earning cutting glares from Thor and Sif. He takes a step back. “Too soon?”

 

“It might be a man,” Hogun supplies, and all they all look at him in confusion. “We keep referring to Thor’s future bride as a woman, but the announcement _does_ include intersexed males, after all, as long as they are fertile.”

 

“Please,” Thor scoffs. “Fertile, intersexed males are rare. And when you include other factors, such as the appropriate age, being beautiful and untouched… it is highly unlikely that one will be found eligible. Impossible, even!”

  

* * *

  

Halfway through dinner, Angrboda sets down his utensil and looks at his nephew. “Loki, you know I love you.”

 

Loki’s brow furrows, and the hand bringing a spoonful of stew up to his mouth freezes before it gets there.

 

“And I know that fight was nothing new for you, and that you constantly disobey me and go to the market by yourself.” Loki drops his spoon into his bowl and opens his mouth to protest, but a sharp look from Angrboda silences him. “Seeing as such, you have no doubt heard the royal decree issued today, yes?”

 

“Yes,” Loki answers warily, not liking where this is going.

 

Angrboda regards him sternly. “Until this is over, I do _not_ want you going into the city, do you understand?”

 

“But uncle –“

 

“No, Loki! I mean it.”

 

Loki scoffs. “They’re not going to choose me –“

 

“Any intersexed male who is of age.”

 

“But they have to be beautiful, do they not?”

 

Angrboda looks at him for a long moment. “My sweet nephew, do you even look at yourself?”

 

Loki shifts awkwardly and takes a large bite of bread. “They also have to be fertile,” he says with his mouth full.

 

“You are fertile.”

 

“Yes, and I'm also a Jotun,” Loki snaps, “but they don’t know that!”

 

Angrboda looks around out of habit before glaring at Loki. “They’ll be able to tell that you’re fertile if they examine you!” Before Loki can respond, he adds, “And before you even try it, anyone who so much as looks at you can tell that you’re a virgin in every sense of the word.”

 

“No, they — uncle!” Loki protests, blushing. “Listen, I –“

 

“No, you listen. It’s not just about me losing you, Loki…” Angrboda leans closer and lowers his voice. “Imagine, just for a second, that you’re chosen to live in the palace. What is going to happen when they find out what you really are?”

 

“But I –“

 

“What if _the king_ chooses you, and then he finds out?”

 

Loki snorts. “He’ll drink away his sorrows and have me banished, of course.”

 

“And what if,” Angrboda continues with gritted teeth, “before executing you, he discovers not only what you are, but _who_ you are? You wouldn’t just be killed, Loki; you’d be a prisoner of war!”

 

“And that’s worse than being executed?!”

 

“In this case? Yes.”

 

Loki says nothing, and Angrboda sighs. “I can’t let anything happen to you, Loki. I promised your parents, your siblings…” Loki closes his eyes and swallows. “And though I’m not your uncle by blood, I –“

 

This time Loki interrupts Angrboda. “Uncle.” He looks Angrboda in the eyes. “I know. I’ll stay here until we know it’s safe.”

 

“Promise me, Loki.”

 

“I will!”

 

“No! _Promise_ me.”

 

Loki starts to feel slightly nauseous. “I promise.”

 

“Good,” Angrboda finally says before taking a long drink of water.

 

They finish the rest of their meal in uncomfortable silence.

  

* * *

 

Loki’s obedience lasts for two days.

 

He is in the southeast square, leaning against a wall with the hood of his cloak pulled up and searching for a rude merchant or vendor to torture when several royal guards ride into the clearing. People quickly move out of the way to give them room, murmuring to each other all the while. When Tyr appears before them on his horse, a hush falls over the crowd; everyone recognizes the head advisor to the king.

 

“All eligible youth come forward,” Tyr commands loudly, knowing that every citizen has heard the announcement and that no further explanations are needed.

 

Many young women rush over, some more reluctantly than others. Loki watches as a young girl standing near him is actually pushed forward by her mother.

 

“All potential youth will be inspected at some point, so there’s no point in hiding,” Tyr continues in a bored tone.

 

Loki readjusts the hood of his cloak and turns away, abandoning his afternoon of mischief and beginning to wish that he had listened to his uncle. He is almost out of the square when a large hand suddenly grasps his shoulder and spins him around. Before he can react, the hood of his cloak is pulled down and a guard is dragging him by the wrist to stand in front of Tyr. “Found this one trying to run away,” he says, holding Loki by the arms in front of him.

 

The crowd’s murmuring increases as all eyes are on Loki.

 

Tyr glances at Loki’s chest before frowning at the guard. “This is a boy.” Then his eyes return to Loki, and he squints. “You are a boy, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes!” Loki squirms in the guard’s hold. “I’m not a girl, so let me go!”

 

Ignoring him, the guard addresses Tyr, “He’s pretty, though. Very feminine. Could have a cunt.”

 

Tyr hums as he looks Loki up and down, considering. “Are you intersexed, boy?”

 

“No!”

 

Tyr smiles. “Check him.”

 

“Wait!” Loki cries as another guard reaches for his clothing.

 

“Yes?” Tyr asks.

 

“I… I am intersexed.”

 

Many in the crowd gasp in surprise, and Loki hears faint laughter coming from a few people. He quickly looks around, finding those who are laughing to be the three boys from the other day, easily recognizable by their many scrapes and still-healing bruises. Smirking, Loki focuses his magic on the boys’ clothing and forces the fabric to rapidly unravel at the seams.

 

The crowd bursts into laughter as the boys shriek and attempt to cover their nakedness while fleeing, but the resulting chaos only makes Tyr look at Loki appraisingly. “A sorcerer, eh? Intriguing.” Loki looks up at Tyr with wide, pleading eyes. “Take him to the palace.”

 

“No!” Loki cries, struggling anew.

 

“Here, better use these.” Tyr tosses a pair of manacles to an empty-handed guard, who then locks them around Loki’s wrists in a flash. Finding his magic completely sealed, Loki stares up at Tyr in shock, but the man only winks at him in return. “Go now, before he causes more of a scene,” he instructs the guards.

 

Loki snarls and spits at the ground in front of Tyr’s horse as he is dragged away, causing Tyr to chuckle at his plight. “Feisty little sorcerer,” he tells one of his men. “Thor will either love him or hate him. Possibly both.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for invasive questioning and non-consensual medical examinations.

Loki is unceremoniously marched through the city along with several other young girls, many of them openly weeping. Loki barely manages to hold back his own tears, repeating in his mind that Angrboda will get him out of this while at the same time berating himself for not obeying his wise uncle in the first place.

 

When they arrive to the palace, they are escorted inside the throne room where hundreds of other girls, along with the occasional boy, are already waiting. “Keep him here for a moment,” one of the guards says. He returns a minute later with a strange-looking object in hand; as soon as Loki realizes what it is, he begins struggling violently.

 

“Now, now,” the guard restraining him says. “It’s only temporary… _if_ you behave.”

 

A third guard comes over and holds his head still, but just as Loki opens his mouth to scream, the muzzle is unceremoniously shoved inside his mouth and fastened around his head. “Can’t risk you using magic to escape,” one of the guards tell him before they let go of Loki, leaving him standing bound and muzzled and alone.

 

Ignoring the looks of pity and curiosity he is receiving from the guards and the other youth being detained, Loki shoulders past them until he is able to collapse against one of the many giant pillars. His eyes flit around the enormous, golden room and thinks absentmindedly that it would be breathtaking under different circumstances.

 

While noting the large number of guards patrolling the room, including several who are watching over them from the stairs leading to the empty throne, Loki tries to remove his muzzle discreetly. When it refuses to budge, he turns his attention to his manacles, but minutes spent trying to pry them open only make his hands shake and his heart race faster.

 

Before he can draw any more unwanted attention, Loki groans and leans his head back against the pillar, trying to slow his breathing and quell the nausea rising in his stomach. He decides that rest is his best option right now, and so he curls up on the marble floor and tries to get as comfortable as he can despite the muzzle cutting into the insides of his cheeks.

 

He does not know how long he lies there. Aesir youth are marched in and out all day, and Loki eventually loses track of who has been there as long as him. He drifts in and out of consciousness, though he tries to stay alert for whenever Angrboda comes to rescue him.

 

At one point, Queen Frigga herself walks through the crowd with her handmaidens. Many of the youth either gaze in awe or attempt to speak with her in order to impress her, but Loki barely pays her any attention until he notices that she has stopped not far from where he is lying. Without moving his body, his eyes glance up at her, only to find her staring back at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Before he can process this, she turns and leaves the throne room much quicker than she entered. Loki falls asleep again.

 

Not long after, gentle hands on his side are awakening him. Loki opens his eyes slowly to find a kind-looking old man kneeling next to him. “Hello,” the man says before helping Loki sit up. “My name is Hoenir.”

 

Loki merely blinks at him.

 

“Would you mind coming with me? It’s almost time for your examination.”

 

Without waiting for any kind of nonverbal answer, Hoenir stands and holds out his hand, and because he is in no position to refuse, Loki takes it and allows himself to be pulled up.

 

“We’ll see about getting this removed,” Hoenir says, eyeing the muzzle with distaste. He then nods at the manacles on Loki’s wrists. “Those as well. Sound good?”

 

Loki nods.

 

With a firm hand on his shoulder, Hoenir gently guides him out of the throne room and into a wide corridor. Numerous people pass them as they walk, many of them eyeing Loki with open fascination.

 

“None of the other youth chosen were considered dangerous enough to bind,” Hoenir comments lightly, explaining the strange stares. “Well, and most of them have breasts.”

 

Loki huffs out a nervous laugh behind his muzzle, and Hoenir squeezes his shoulder.

 

They finally reach the healing wing, and Hoenir leaves Loki sitting in the crowded waiting room beside several other girls. “I’ll be right back,” he tells him before going to converse quietly with one of the attendants. Loki pays them little attention, instead looking around the room desperately for his uncle, but to no avail.

 

Hoenir returns shortly. “They’re ready for you now, but don’t worry; I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

 

When they step inside one of the healing rooms, the first thing Loki sees is the long examination table in the center of the room. Just as he is thinking about making a run for it, Hoenir shuts the door behind them.

 

A glowing older woman walks over to him and smiles. “Hello, dear. My name is Eir, head healer of the palace.” Like Hoenir, her smile fades into a look of disgust as she takes in the muzzle up close. “First thing’s first — let’s get this off, shall we?“

 

Hoenir assists her, and after a few seconds of fiddling with it, the muzzle snaps open in the back, allowing them to pry it out of Loki’s mouth without much effort. Hoenir tosses the bloody muzzle onto a nearby table while Eir holds a small basin in front of Loki’s face, her other hand rubbing his back as he coughs and spits out blood.

 

“You can thank Queen Frigga for these being removed,” Hoenir tells him while removing the manacles from Loki’s wrists. “She was very upset when she saw how you’d been treated… as are we.”

 

Loki wipes his mouth with the back of his now-freed hand and straightens his spine. “Angrboda,” he rasps. Hoenir and Eir frown, and Loki clears his throat before speaking again. “Angrboda, my uncle. He’s a healer here in the palace. I must speak with him!”

 

Eir looks surprised. “You’re his nephew?”

 

“Where is he?!” Loki yells, startling all three of them.

 

“He’s tending to another patient right now,” Eir answers carefully.

 

“We’ll let you see him,” Hoenir says before Loki can reply. “I promise. But first, Eir needs to perform a medical examination on you, all right?”

 

“An examination?” Loki asks wearily and much more quietly, crossing his arms self-consciously.

 

Eir nods. “Have you ever had one?”

 

Loki starts to shake his head but pauses. “Well, my uncle…”

 

“Of course,” Eir says gently. “We’re required to perform a basic examination on every eligible youth. It’s quick and very easy. Hoenir, fetch Loki some water, will you?”

 

“No offense, but why is the head healer wasting her time on me?” Loki asks as Hoenir pours his water off to the side. “Don’t you have royals to look after, or something?”

 

Judging by her smile, Eir does not take offense. “For the same reason that Hoenir was asked to escort you here. And besides, you may be a royal soon enough.”

 

Hoenir hands Loki a cup of water, which he downs greedily before replying, “Doubtful. Aren’t I too dangerous to be considered a potential consort? Surely the king doesn’t want his spouse to be bound and muzzled in his presence.”

 

Hoenir and Eir exchange amused looks that go over Loki’s head. “Well,” Hoenir says with a cough, “Queen Frigga is interested in you. And if the All-Mother is interested in you, you must be something special.”

 

Loki swallows nervously but says nothing. Hoenir refills Loki’s water for him.

 

“What is your name, dear?” Eir asks.

 

“Loki.”

 

“Unique name,” Hoenir comments as he hands Loki back his water.

 

Loki shrugs and drinks some more.

 

“I think it’s lovely," Eir says. "Are you ready to begin, Loki?”

 

“I suppose.” Then, against his will, he asks meekly, “Will it hurt?”

 

They both look at him with pity, which worries Loki even further. “It might be uncomfortable, but I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can. The more relaxed and honest you are, the easier it will be.” Loki nods, and Eir takes his water in order to hand him a thin, white gown. “I’m going to need you to undress completely, but you can slip this on.”

 

Loki nods again and waits for them to turn around. When they smile reassuringly but stay in place, Loki turns his back on them instead and strips his cloak and shirt off. He then pulls the strange gown over his arms and onto his shoulders before bending down and removing his boots, pants, and undergarments.

 

Only then does his brain catch up and fully realize that the gown is backless.

 

Horrified, Loki spins back around and blushes, expecting laughter, but Eir and Hoenir only continue to smile at him kindly. “You don’t have to be shy around us, dear,” Eir says. She steps closer to him and grabs a rope of fabric connected to the gown that Loki had not noticed. “You use this to tie it around the back, see?” she explains as she ties it for him.

 

“Thank you,” he all but whispers while willing his blush to go down.

 

“Now, why don’t you sit on the examination table and try to make yourself comfortable while I ask you some questions.”

 

Loki does as she says and uses his hands to push himself backwards onto the tall table. He sits awkwardly, bare legs dangling and hands folded in his lap as he gingerly chews on the insides of his sore cheeks nervously.

 

Eir sits down at a small table nearby and gets ready to write down his answers. “How old are you, Loki?”

 

“Eighteen.”

 

“And you parents –“

 

“Dead,” Loki answers curtly. “Angrboda has raised me since birth.”

 

Eir pauses. “Do you have any other family to your knowledge?”

 

“No,” Loki lies.

 

Eir makes a few notes. “You are intersexed, yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you menstruate?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How often?”

 

“Once a month.”

 

“Is it consistent?”

 

Loki nods. “Usually.”

 

“How many days does your bleeding last?”

 

“Around four.”

 

“At what age did you start menstruating?”

 

“Twelve, I think.”

 

“Do you experience any physical pain or discomfort while you bleed? Like cramps?”

 

“Sometimes cramps on the first day.”

 

“How about emotionally? Do you experience mood swings?”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Have you ever had intercourse?”

 

Loki wants to lie, but he knows it would be pointless; anyone well versed in healing seidr would be able to tell whether he is a virgin or not upon examining him. “No.”

 

“Have you ever performed sexual acts of any kind, or had them performed on you?”

 

“No.”

 

“So you’ve never experimented at all? No kissing?”

 

Loki blushes again. “No.” He sees Hoenir smile, but it is not mocking.

 

“The next few questions may seem especially invasive, but I am required to ask. Are you attracted to females, males, or both?”

 

Loki wrings his hands together. “…Both, maybe. Mostly males… I’m not really sure.”

 

“That’s all right, dear. Do you masturbate?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you pleasure yourself?”

 

Loki’s blush deepens. “I… yes.”

 

“How do you masturbate?”

 

“…What?”

 

“Do you pleasure both sex organs? Finger yourself anywhere? Use your hand or an object?”

 

Loki cringes and closes his eyes momentarily. “I kind of just… rut against the bed, really.” He is barely able to keep from burying his face in his hands.

 

“How often?”

 

“I don’t know… every few days? Sometimes…”

 

“Yes?” Eir prods. “How much do you masturbate at the most?”

 

“A couple of times a day.”

 

“Do you ever have periods where you don’t masturbate?”

 

“Not really. Unless I’m especially tired, I suppose.”

 

“What about the rest of your body? Any health concerns?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of.”

 

Eir stands up. “All right, if you’ll step over here, we’re going to collect blood and urine samples, and then I’m going to measure your height and weight.”

 

Loki slips down from the table and complies with all of Eir’s instructions. When they send him inside a small bathroom, he is tempted to lock himself inside, but he does as he is told and comes back out with a urine sample for them. He is completely still while Eir takes a sample of his blood, not even wincing as the needle pierces his skin, and remains quiet as she measures his height and weight. He looks over at Hoenir once, and the older man gives him an encouraging smile. Loki tentatively smiles back until Eir unties his gown for him. “I’m sorry, dear, but I’ll need you to leave this untied for a few minutes. You can sit back down on the examination table now.”

 

Loki shuffles back onto the table in an attempt to show Eir and Hoenir as little of his backside as possible, despite them having already seen it. He manages to stay calm while Eir checks his eyes and ears and throat, and even relaxes as she medicates the inside of his mouth where the muzzle was cutting into him. But by the time she works her way down his body and is testing his reflexes, he breathing becomes heavy with anxiety again.

 

“You can lie back now,” Eir says once she is finished. Loki does as he is told and shuts his eyes tightly. With Eir positioning his legs to where his feet lie flat in the stirrups attached to the end of the table, he is barely aware of Hoenir coming closer to hold his hand. “Spread your legs a little more for me,” Eir instructs before looking under his gown.

 

Loki keeps his eyes shut and bites his lip as Eir’s hands prod at his cock. It is the first time any hands other than his own have touched him there, and it could not be more uncomfortable and un-arousing. And then Eir reaches behind the shaft to where his cunt is, and Loki gasps. “Try to relax,” Eir murmurs, and Hoenir squeezes his hand. Loki breathes as steadily as he can while Eir gently pries apart his labia and uses something cold and metal to lightly scrape along the inner walls. Not long after, Loki can feel her seidr washing over him, inspecting him in a way healing instruments never could. As soon as she withdraws from between his legs, Loki realizes that he has been silently crying.

 

“We’re almost done,” Eir informs him, pulling the top of his gown down to expose his pectorals. She taps along his chest and presses her fingers into his skin, and the sensation is slightly painful and has Loki holding his breath nearly the entire time. To his utter relief, she merely examines his nipples with her eyes, apparently deeming them fine before pulling his gown back up.

 

“All right, dear, I just have to check your prostate now, and then we’ll be finished. Can you stand up for me?” Loki does as she says and allows Eir to grasp his slightly rounded hips and turn him around. At this point, his partial nudity is the least of his concerns. “Lean over the table and stay as still as you can. This will be uncomfortable but quick, I promise.”

 

Loki leans over and rests his head in his arms, shaking slightly as he feels Eir’s gloved finger enter his other opening. Hoenir places a comforting hand on his back, and Loki thinks of how in a few days he will be home with Angrboda and Svadilfari, forgetting this entire nightmare.

 

To her credit, Eir quickly finishes examining his prostate and withdraws from his body. “You can redress, dear.” Loki stands and wipes the tears from his face, thanking Hoenir softly when he hands Loki his clothes.

 

Eir and Hoenir leave to go check the samples they took from him, finally giving him privacy as he dresses. Loki is just slipping his cloak back on when Angrboda rushes inside the room. He looks angry and no doubt opens his mouth to yell at Loki, but he stops short at the sight of tear tracks shining on Loki’s cheeks and red, watery eyes blinking back fresh tears. “Oh, Loki,” he murmurs before gathering his nephew into his arms.

 

Loki falls against his chest and lets out a sob. “I’m sorry, uncle, I’m sorry,” he cries into Angrboda’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to get captured, I swear –“

 

“Shh, I know. It’s all right.”

 

“Get me out of here!” Loki begs, pulling back from Angrboda’s chest to look up at him in desperation.

 

“I can’t, Loki... you know I can’t.” Loki sobs again, and Angrboda hushes him once more. “It will all be over soon, my nephew.” He grasps Loki’s shoulders and whispers, “But you must be careful, though. I don’t know why Hoenir is taking an interest in you when he’s had nothing to do with the other youth…”

 

“Is he important?”

 

“Hoenir is King Odin’s closest friend and an advisor to the crown.”

 

Loki's brows furrow. “But why would he… And Queen Frigga, Hoenir told me she is responsible for getting the… muzzle removed.” Angrboda’s eyes slide over to the abandoned muzzle, and a dark look passes over his face. “I remember her staring at me for a moment when she walked through the throne room… Do you think they know?”

 

Angrboda looks back at his nephew. “I don’t think so. But like I said, you _must_ be careful. One wrong move, and Eir and Hoenir will suspect something.”

 

“They took my blood,” Loki confesses. His body begins to tremble. “And they examined my body, and –“

 

Angrboda pulls him back against his chest and runs a hand up and down his spine. “Hush, Loki. You’re a shape-shifter, remember? Your blood, your body — everything is perfectly Asgardian while you’re in this form.”

 

“Oh… yes, of course,” Loki says, though he is not able to stop trembling.

 

Angrboda smiles wryly and adds, “Even if you did retain some of your more… interesting features. No matter what form you take, you still insist on being different.” When he gets the desired laugh he was aiming for, Angrboda kisses the top of Loki's head. “You’ll be all right,” he continues soothingly. “Just stay quiet and do as you’re told for now. Can you do that for me?”

 

Loki nods against Angrboda’s shoulder before another sob overtakes him.

 

“You can do this, my nephew. You are strong and smart… too smart for your own good, really.” Loki smiles through his tears. “And so very, very clever. We’ve kept your true identity a secret for far too long; we’re not going to mess it up now, are we, Loki?”

 

Loki shakes his head.

 

By the time he is mostly calmed down, Hoenir is back to escort Loki from the healing wing. “Where are you taking him?” Angrboda asks.

 

“To the harem.” Loki gasps and burrows into Angrboda’s side. “It’s not what you think,” Hoenir adds quickly when he sees Angrboda’s murderous expression. “The concubines have all been discharged. We will be housing our chosen youth there until King Thor chooses his queen.”

 

“You mean…” Angrboda trails off.

 

Hoenir looks at Loki and smiles warmly. “Loki has passed the first test.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you already know after reading this chapter, Loki's biology is purely alien and not representative of intersexed humans. If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask me, but do know that his biology and the appearance of his genitals will be further explained in later chapters. Also, in my mind and in this story, medical protocol and procedures in Asgard are similar to the ones on Midgard, except what Asgard lacks in Earth technology, they make up for in seidr. But again, feel free to ask me any questions or let me know if you have any concerns.
> 
> In the next chapter, we'll find out what Thor has been doing and see what's next for Loki!


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Loki sits inside the main hall of the luxurious harem along with dozens of other youth, picking at his nails and occasionally listening to the chatter around him. He overheard from two girls sitting nearby that they had gone through their medical examinations the day before him and have been kept waiting inside the harem for two nights already. Loki wonders how many more days they will have to wait before he can fail the next test — whatever it may be — and go home.

 

He yawns for what feels like the tenth time in ten minutes, having gotten little sleep the night before. They were forced to sleep in the hall they are sitting in now, each given a small cot on the floor with barely an inch of space between them. Many of the youth snored during their sleep, and some sobbed throughout the night; Loki merely cried silent tears as he had during the medical examination, and did not drift off until dawn.

 

Hoenir, apologetically, had to reattach his manacles before dropping him off at the harem, which made sleep even more difficult, as well as blending in — all eyes around him still occasionally dart to his manacles in interest and fear, when all Loki wants to do is disappear from Asgard completely. Fortunately, the muzzle stayed off, which Loki is very thankful for despite everything else.

 

Looking back, he is not ashamed of his tears during the examination, but he is furious at himself for answering their questions with honesty. He could have lied about his possible attraction to men. He could have told them that he does not pleasure himself because he has no sex drive, that he has kissed many youth before… anything. If only he had not been so scared.

 

But he also knows that they would have chosen him regardless. He may be successful in lying about his past, but Eir would be able to see through any lies about his body, especially now that his seidr is locked away. His lips quirk up a little, thinking once again how fortunate he is to be a natural shape-shifter. Otherwise, he might have been killed the moment the first guard locked the manacles around his wrists.

 

Or he would be a very different kind of prisoner right now, much like Angrboda has always feared.

 

“Amora,” a woman suddenly calls, reading from a scroll and catching the attention of everyone inside the hall. Loki watches as one of the two girls he listened in on earlier stands and follows the woman outside.

 

For the next several hours, a youth’s name is called from the scroll, and they are taken from the room. Many do not return, but those that do shrug at the questions being thrown their way by the others and say that all they did was speak to a man for a few minutes before being dismissed — an incredibly beautiful man, they all add.

 

Amora returned, as did Lorelei, the other girl sitting with her, and Loki listens carefully as they discuss what transpired while they were gone but hears nothing he has not already heard.

 

“Loki,” the woman calls eventually, and everyone goes quiet as two guards enter the room and escort him back inside the palace. This time he is taken to a small sitting room where a man is reclining in a chair by a large, open window.

 

The others were right, Loki thinks as the man smiles at him; he is beautiful.

 

The guards guide him into the room before shutting the doors behind him, leaving him alone with the gorgeous man. “Loki." His hand elegantly gestures at the chair across from him. “Please, sit down.”

 

Loki does as he says, intending to sit straight and dignified but instead sinking into the comfortable leather as his aching back finally finds comfort. He accidentally lets out a soft moan, causing the man to chuckle. “I am Balder,” he introduces himself, and even his voice is lovely, Loki notes with annoyance.

 

Loki closes his eyes and hums, too tired to care about manners and beautiful people.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Awful, but better now that my bones can rest on something other than that damned cot they provided for me.”

 

“I imagine your wrists must be sore as well,” another voice says, and Loki opens his eyes to find Hoenir entering the room.

 

“No, really? What makes you think that?” Loki replies sarcastically, and shakes his manacled wrists for good measure. He then remembers what Angrboda told him about Hoenir and bows his head. “I apologize.”

 

“I don’t blame you for being upset,” Hoenir says, walking over to him. “But perhaps you’ll be happier wearing these.” He holds out two thin, gold bracelets for Loki to examine.

 

“What are they?”

 

“Bracelets.” Loki looks up at him sharply, and Hoenir smirks. “They bind magic.”

 

“So they’re essentially the same as these,” Loki says, shaking his wrists again.

 

“But infinitely more comfortable and convenient,” Hoenir argues, and so Loki allows him to replace the manacles with the bracelets. The minute he attaches them, the lightweight gold bands magically shrink to fit his thin wrists perfectly — not so loose that they will move around, but not too tight as to cause discomfort, either. “Better?” he asks once they’re on.

 

“Yes,” Loki answers reluctantly, and Hoenir moves to stand beside Balder’s chair. “Thank you. But why am I the only one having my magic bound? This other girl, Amora, I saw her using seidr!”

 

“True, you’re not the only sorcerer among those chosen, but the others were taken from schools where they were being trained in seidr. You, on the other hand, were not registered in any of our records, which makes you a potential threat.” Hoenir grins at him. “And we did some digging and know of your reputation in the southeast market, little trickster.”

 

Loki goes deathly still while Balder leans forward, clearly interested. “Trickster?”

 

“It seems Loki here was well known for his pranks, as well as his… resourcefulness.”

 

Loki gulps, but neither Hoenir nor Balder make a move to throw him in the dungeons for stealing, so he remains silent.

 

“Where are you from, Loki?” Balder asks. “All Angrboda has told us is that he has raised you since you were an infant.”

 

“I am of the air,” Loki says smoothly. “Whose presence — or lack thereof — is always felt, yet no one knows from whence it comes or where it goes.”

 

“…Right. So you –“

 

“I am of Asgard, of course; raised just outside the city, as a matter of fact. I’d tell you about my parents, but I’ve never met them. Neither has Angrboda.”

 

Lies are best believed when mixed with truth, Loki has learned.

 

“That means Angrboda…“

 

“Is not really my uncle, no. Not by blood. But he is kind enough to claim me as his nephew nonetheless.”

 

“I see. So tell me, Loki, why would you make a great queen of Asgard?”

 

“I wouldn’t.”

 

Balder raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“I’d be a terrible queen,” Loki replies simply. “I’m mean and selfish and would only be in it for the servants and the power-trip.”

 

Balder bites his lip as Hoenir coughs into his fist. “I take it you don’t want to be here,” Balder surmises.

 

“You’re right. I _don’t_ want to be here. I want to go home to my uncle and Svad and spend my time terrorizing the market. I’d only be a disservice to Asgard.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Svad?”

 

“Were you not just listening? Asgard needs a queen who is strong and brave and… wise and just. I am none of those things. Queen Frigga is, and so was Queen Jarnsaxa, or at least she appeared to be during her short reign; but not me.”

 

“Who is Svad?” Hoenir tries again.

 

“Svadilfari, our horse.” Loki’s expression softens. “I know it’s probably pathetic, but he’s my best friend. I don’t want to leave him.”

 

Balder leans back in his chair and studies him for a long time, quietly considering as Loki tries his best not to fidget. Hoenir looks back and forth between the two of them but remains silent.

 

Eventually, Balder smiles. “Thank you, Loki. You’re dismissed.”

 

“Really? That’s it?”

 

“Did I forget anything?”

 

“No, I just… am I going home, then?”

 

“Why would you think you are going home?”

 

“Well, I didn’t exactly give a promising answer to your question.”

 

“Didn’t you?”

 

Loki gapes, uncharacteristically speechless.

 

“Congratulations, Loki of Air,” Balder announces with a brilliant grin that is nearly matched by Hoenir. “You are hereby officially in the running for the new queen of Asgard.”

 

* * *

 

That night, the twenty-four youth who pass the second test are split up into groups of four and given their own living quarters to share in the harem. Loki, the only male who passed both tests, is to be treated just like the rest of the chosen youth and is assigned a suite to share with three other girls.

 

“I’m Sigyn, and this Amora and her sister Lorelei.” The girls sit across from him on the low, wide sofa in their suite’s living room, eyeing him with open curiosity. Unlike Sigyn, the two sisters do not look especially friendly, but they seem to be intrigued by him nonetheless.

 

Loki, in a much better mood after being allowed a private bath and given fresh clothes to wear, inclines his head and smiles at his suitemates. “If only we were meeting under better circumstances.”

 

Lorelei gasps. “You don’t want to marry King Thor?” she cries, genuinely surprised. Amora looks on with thinly veiled disgust.

 

“Um, no,” Loki answers with a frown, curling into his chair and basking in the warmth of the nearby fireplace. “I want to go home. I hate this.”

 

Amora brightens. “Better chance for us, then. Do be a dear and tell the king this if you make it far enough to meet him.”

 

“Oh, I plan on telling him just enough to get me thrown out of the competition but not enough to get me hanged,” Loki responds with a smirk.

 

“I’m nervous about tomorrow,” Sigyn admits quietly, blushing a little. “I heard one of the other girls say that we’re going to be taught how to… pleasure the king.”

 

“It’s called sex, Sigyn,” Amora deadpans.

 

“Better that the future queen learns how to perform and what to expect _before_ the wedding night,” Loki reasons. “No surprises that way.”

 

Sigyn shakes her head. “But you didn’t let me finish. Some of the girls overheard Balder and another woman talking about our… one night with the king, or something.”

 

“You mean the queen will be chosen based on how well King Thor likes us in bed?” Lorelei asks, one hand already smoothing down her hair.

 

Loki snorts. “Let’s hope so. I’ll just do everything we’re taught _not_ to do regarding King Thor’s… preferences.”

 

“Oh, just wait,” Amora sneers. “You’ll be the most competitive one out of all of us before this is over, swooning over the king helplessly and clawing out the eyes of any girl who gets in your way.”

 

Sigyn and Lorelei giggle and agree with Amora’s assessment, and Loki throws a pillow at her for it.

 

The four youth chat late into the night before retiring to their small, separate bedrooms. Loki lies in his bed and stares out the window, running his fingertips over his bracelets absentmindedly and wishing he were back in his own smaller, more comfortable bedroom where the palace was much farther away from view.

 

Then he begins to plan.

 

* * *

  

Sif finds Thor in one of their favorite lounges in the palace, sitting in his usual chair and staring intently at the roaring fire across from him. A half-empty goblet of mead rests in his hand, but Sif is relieved that there are no other bottles in sight. It is the first time since Jarnsaxa’s banishment that Sif has been alone with Thor, and she wants him sober for this conversation.

 

“I was wondering where you were hiding,” she says, sitting on the couch close by.

 

“I am not hiding,” Thor protests, but slumps further into his chair when Sif merely raises an eyebrow. “All right, so I’m hiding.”

 

“I thought King Thor hides from nothing.”

 

“King Thor,” Thor says derisively before trailing off, a calm anger settling onto his features.

 

“Thor –“

 

“I am ashamed, Sif,” he says, so softly that he nearly goes unheard over the crackling of the fire. “I can barely look my parents in the eye, let alone my subjects. I thought I could handle it, but then the youth started arriving, and…” He goes to take a sip of mead before thinking better of it, frowning down at his drink. “The worst part of it all is that I’m not terribly surprised it happened.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“My marriage to Jarnsaxa wasn’t… going well,” Thor admits. He finally looks over at Sif. “I never loved her, not really. And she never wanted to be queen.”

 

“I could tell she was… unhappy,” Sif says delicately. “You as well.” She sighs. “I should have done something.”

 

“No. There is no one to blame but myself.”

 

“You said you were going to make things right,” Sif reminds him. “How?”

 

It takes Thor a while to answer. “By choosing the best candidate to be my queen, to start with.”

 

“And after that?”

 

“I do not know.”

 

They sit in silence as Thor sips at his mead until the Warriors Three come loudly barreling in, completely shattering Thor’s pensive mood. Sif shoots them an irritated look that goes completely ignored.

 

“How goes Operation: Child Bride?” Fandral asks, and immediately ducks when Thor’s now-empty goblet is thrown in his direction. The others cringe when it crashes against the wall of the lounge.

 

“They’re all of age,” Thor snaps, crossing his arms petulantly. “Or so they tell me,” he mutters a moment later.

 

“The ones I’ve caught glimpses of are beautiful,” Sif says.

 

“Of course they’re beautiful,” Volstagg scoffs, collapsing heavily in one of the chairs. “But is there anything _in_ those pretty heads?”

 

“I saw Hoenir himself escorting one of them through the palace yesterday,” Hogun comments, sitting down beside Sif.

 

Thor’s head snaps up. “Hoenir? Why?”

 

“I saw that, too!” Fandral cries excitedly, stretching out his legs on the settee and ignoring Thor. “Most peculiar. He was the only youth I saw like that.”

 

“Like what?” Thor demands. “What are you talking about?”

 

“He was wearing manacles and some kind of muzzle,” Hogun tells him. “Magic suppressors, most likely.”

 

Fandral snorts. “Most certainly. The boy looked as if a light breeze could carry him away. It must be magic that makes him considered so dangerous… that, or he talks a lot.”

 

“What sorcerer doesn’t?” Thor points out, causing the others to laugh. “You say it was a male?” he then asks, admittedly intrigued.

 

Hogun nods. “He was thin and delicate-looking, but definitely male.”

 

“No matter,” Thor says quickly. “We are still training together in the morning, yes?”

 

“He _was_ rather fey looking, wasn’t he?” Fandral asks Hogun, ignoring Thor. “Such pale skin and black hair, very feminine features — he almost seemed elfish, but he must be an Asgardian.” He then grins lecherously at Thor. “I wish you could have seen him, Thor. Bound and muzzled like he was, scared yet defiant…”

 

Thor shifts awkwardly in his chair, and Volstagg guffaws. “Stop arousing our newly celibate king, Fandral.”

 

“I am not aroused!” Thor barks, just as a servant enters the room. Wisely, the wide-eyed servant quickly sets a pitcher of mead and a tray of empty goblets on the table next to Thor's chair before hurrying away, sending Sif and the Warriors Three into another laughing fit.

 

“I hope he becomes our queen,” Fandral continues while snickering, “and then Thor can have him tied up and gagged in the bedroom all he wants!”

 

Thor growls and throws another goblet at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the next chapter, I don't want to give too much away... but something we've all been waiting for is going to happen ;D
> 
> Thanks for reading, and comments are love!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alien biologyyy *whistles innocently* But again, this will be further explained in later chapters ~~because Thor will have questions.~~
> 
> And now, the moment we have all been waiting for...

Loki awakens at dawn, dresses in the one of the simple pairs of trousers and tunics provided for him, and slips outside into the small, enclosed garden behind the palace harem. The sun is just beginning to rise, and since city-dwelling Aesir have a well-known tendency to sleep late, Loki feels confident that he is alone.

 

He walks through the garden, listening to the birds singing their morning hymns and breathing in the cool, crisp air, lightly scented by the flowers in bloom. The soft green grass is coated with dew and feels wonderful to his bare feet.

 

He pondered his situation the night before, having come to terms with everything emotionally enough to where he could begin thinking rationally. He passed both tests with flying colors for reasons he knows not, but just a few days of his particular brand of torture should have Hoenir or Balder or whomever his new keeper is begging to get rid of him. He may not have his magic, but Loki is practically mischief incarnate; he will just have to do things the old fashioned way.

 

He will not overdo it, of course; he has no plans to incur the king’s wrath. But he will be brave, for Angrboda and Svad, and will get to go home in no time.

 

Feeling like himself again has Loki smiling, and before long, he is laughing and dancing around the garden, basking in the beauty around him and joyfully anticipating his return home.

 

He is spinning in circles, arms outstretched and face tilted towards the sky, when he hears laughter. He stops spinning abruptly and spots King Thor himself and four others walking down a path not far from the gardens, one of them pointing at Loki. To make matters worse, Loki’s wild spinning and sudden stop brings on a bought of dizziness, and he nearly falls over as his body lurches to one side.

 

The king and his companions seem to find this even more hilarious, and despite the deep blush on his cheeks that he knows must be visible to them, Loki tries to save face by pretending not to be embarrassed. He sends them a charming grin and gives a flamboyant bow, to which the king’s friends start clapping. Loki feels a strange surge of delight when King Thor joins in on the applause, sending him an amused but curious smile before turning and leading his friends away.

 

As soon as they are gone, Loki covers his face with his hands in horror. “By the Norn’s,” he breathes, letting out a small whimper in humiliation.

 

“That’s one way to make an impression,” a familiar voice comments from behind him, and Loki slowly and reluctantly turns to see Balder standing with a woman just inside the backdoors of the harem. Balder is clearly trying not to laugh, but the woman looks completely unamused, glowering at Loki.

 

“What can I say? I strive to be memorable,” Loki quips.

 

The woman looks him up and down. “You must be Loki,” she drawls, thoroughly unimpressed.

 

“In the flesh,” Loki retorts dryly, tilting his head up and meeting her gaze bravely. Rude countenance aside, she is beautiful, much like Balder himself, and just looking at the two of them standing side by side irks Loki a little.

 

“This is Skadi,” Balder says, resting his hand on the woman’s shoulder. Skadi immediately shakes him off, but Balder’s smile never falters. “She and I will be the ones living with you, training you to become queen.”

 

“How lovely,” Loki lies through his teeth.

 

* * *

  

“I can’t stop laughing,” Fandral wheezes as they walk to the training grounds. “First he’s being escorted like a villain of the nine realms on his way to the dungeons, and then he’s spinning in circles like a child!”

 

“And then he almost fell over,” Hogun adds, the wide smile on his face showing just how uncharacteristically amused he is.

 

Volstagg sighs happily. “I can’t wait for him to become queen so I can tell my grandchildren about this.”

 

“You three are cruel,” Sif says, though she is also grinning. “Let’s leave the poor boy alone.”

 

Thor chuckles. “Sif is right. He must be humiliated beyond words… you saw how he blushed. And who said he will become queen?”

 

“He did blush rather prettily, didn’t he?” Fandral asks, waggling his eyebrows. “And how could you not choose him after that adorable spectacle? Caught spinning in circles by the King of Asgard, and the lad bows like a true showman.”

 

“A match made in Valhalla!” Volstagg exclaims, playfully shoving Thor.

 

Thor laughs and shoves him back. “Enough about the boy. I didn’t get up this early to speak as if we’re young, lovesick maidens. We have training to do.”

 

* * *

  

“Congratulations to all of you for making it this far,” Balder says to the twenty-four youth gathered in the harem’s main hall. “You bring honor to your families and to Asgard, and you will all be awarded for your service.”

 

“However,” Skadi cuts in, “only one of you will become queen. You are not here to vacation or to make new friends; you are here to train.”

 

“Over the next year, we will be teaching you how to be a queen of Asgard,” Balder explains. “This will include lessons on everything from the history of Asgard and politics and diplomacy to proper etiquette and how to act as a royal should.”

 

“We will also be grooming you to be King Thor’s perfect bride,” Skadi adds. “You were initially chosen for your beauty and virginity, but all of you can be more beautiful, and you must be taught in the art of pleasure for when it is your turn to impress the king.”

 

Balder nods. “Skadi is referring to after a year’s time, when you will each be given one night with the king.” Many of the girls eye each other nervously, others in excitement. “It is King Thor’s decision as to how you spend that night, of course — for all we know, the king may only wish to stroll the palace grounds with each of you — but we want you to be prepared for anything big he might decide to throw your way.”

 

Loki accidentally barks out a laugh, causing other girls to giggle around him. “I was laughing about his hammer!” he says to Skadi’s scathing look, but this only makes him and the others laugh harder.

 

When even Balder lets out a chortle, Skadi claps her hands together sharply, cutting off their laughter. “We have a lot of work to do today, starting with beauty evaluations for each of you.” She smiles sharply at Loki, who in turn winces. “And since he has made such an impression already, I think we’ll begin with Loki.”

 

Cringing, Loki reluctantly rises and follows Balder and Skadi down a few hallways and into a small room filled with bright, artificial lighting. “Is this where you blind people?” Loki mutters, squinting as Balder guides him inside with a hand on his back.

 

As soon as the door is shut behind him, Skadi gestures at his clothing. “Strip.”

 

“Please remove your clothing, Loki,” Balder asks, and Skadi huffs.

 

Loki swallows down his embarrassment and does as he is told, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. Once nude, he stands awkwardly as Balder and Skadi begin circling him and inspecting his body, their eyes flitting over his skin without shame.

 

“This is the second time in two days that I’ve been naked in front of strangers in a small room,” Loki says, crossing his arms and glaring at Balder. “I don’t like it.”

 

“We’re not strangers,” Skadi says. “You and I met this morning, and you’ve known Balder since yesterday.”

 

Balder looks upon him sympathetically. “I know it’s uncomfortable for you, Loki, but just remember that this is our job. It’s not supposed to be awkward.”

 

Skadi uncrosses Loki’s arms for him before kneeling down to look more closely at his cock and the small opening behind it where descended testicles would normally be. Mortified, Loki barely resists the urge to cover his genitals with his hands. “Your job is to stare at nude children?”

 

“But you’re not really a child anymore, are you?” Skadi asks pointedly before moving to stand behind Loki.

 

“I suppose, but that doesn’t –“ Loki cuts himself off suddenly with a sharp gasp as Skadi pinches his backside.

 

“He has a pleasing figure,” she tells Balder. “Long and very lean, but with just enough meat in all the right places.” She smirks at Loki. “And now we know how to shut him up.” Loki groans.

 

“Do you shave?”

 

“What?” Loki asks after a moment, thrown off-guard by the question.

 

“Do you shave?” Balder asks again, nodding towards Loki’s long, hairless legs. “You have no body hair except for the hair on your head and a small amount of pubic hair.”

 

“No,” Loki answers warily. “I’ve never grown hair on my legs, or on my chest or face or wherever most men grow hair.”

 

He sighs inwardly. Jotun or Asgardian, he simply cannot be normal, as Angrboda would say.

 

Skadi eyes him strangely. “What an odd creature you are.”

 

“You have no idea,” Loki drawls.

 

“Skadi, let’s continue,” Balder says. “I want to finish everyone’s beauty evaluations today.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Skadi replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. She finally meets Loki’s eyes. “You will grow your hair out a little longer.”

 

“I will?” Loki asks, subconsciously bringing up a hand to finger his shoulder-length locks.

 

“Yes, you will. We will also need to do something about those eyebrows.”

 

“What’s wrong with them?”

 

Skadi grabs his right hand and scrunches her nose in distaste. “And your nails.”

 

Loki’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits.

  

* * *

  

Angrboda is walking through the palace late one evening when he comes across Hoenir. Swallowing down any nerves, he approaches the powerful man with confidence. “My lord,” he greets, bowing his head respectfully. “I have been looking for you.”

 

Hoenir’s eyes light up in recognition. “Ah, yes. I suppose you wish to enquire about your nephew.”

 

Angrboda looks up at him hopefully. “Yes, my Loki. How is… is he all right?”

 

Hoenir smiles. “Loki is fine, Angrboda. He and the others are currently undergoing cosmetic changes.” When Angrboda’s eyes widen, he quickly adds, “Nothing serious — just simple beauty procedures.”

 

Angrboda clears his throat. “Yes, of course. Will I be allowed to see him?”

 

Hoenir shrugs. “I don’t see why not. I will talk to Balder and Skadi about it and let you know. It may take a while to set up, but I’m sure it will not be a problem. “

 

“Thank you. I… thank you.”

 

Hoenir lifts his hand and pats the incredibly tall man’s shoulder. “Loki is a wonderful child, Angrboda. Mischievous, Balder tells me” — Angrboda cringes — “but wonderful. I have grown quite fond of him already.”

 

Angrboda pauses, debating his words. “If you don’t mind my asking… Queen Frigga, why did she…?”

 

“The All-Mother works in mysterious ways,” Hoenir answers cryptically. “She’s a compassionate soul, especially with children; but everything she does has a reason. I’m afraid I do not know what it is yet... the All-Father himself might not even be able to tell you.” Hoenir glances around briefly before leaning in closer. “All I can tell you is that Loki has captured her attention.”

 

“In a good way, I hope?” Angrboda asks nervously, knowing his nephew far too well.

 

Hoenir chuckles. “Very much so. I’ll be in touch with you soon, Angrboda.” And with another pat on the shoulder, Hoenir departs.

 

Angrboda walks past the harem on his way to retrieve Svadilfari from the palace stable and halts in his tracks. Ever since Eir first came to him and told him that she had his nephew in an examination room, he has felt an unspeakable anger — at King Thor for starting all of this in the first place with his foolishness, at Loki for disobeying the most simple of orders, at the guards who captured Loki and had the nerve to muzzle him like an animal, and at Eir for touching his sweet, sweet nephew in places he had never been touched before (and for forcing Angrboda to do the same to other youth).

 

Looking at the building they have locked Loki inside, this anger grows into a red-hot fury, even stronger than the overwhelming sadness he felt the day he left Jotunheim and hid himself and his prince in the realm of their enemies, and much more palpable than the numbness that spread through his once-icy veins the moment he went to work for the Aesir, the oppressors of his kind.

 

But there is nothing he can do about this now. To challenge Hoenir or, even worse, the royal family, would only further endanger Loki; and so he must let his anger fester inside him and hope that it withers and dies there, for Loki’s sake.

 

Everything he does is for Loki’s sake, and for the sake of the Jotnar.

 

Tearing his eyes away from the harem, Angrboda looks up at the starry sky and sends a silent prayer to Laufey and Farbauti to watch over their youngest child and give him strength, even though he knows within his heart that they already are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so it wasn't sex... or even a proper meeting... but hey, the first sighting counts for something, right? Right.
> 
> Just so all of you know, future chapters might take me a little longer to post, because even though I already have about half of this story written (it's going to be a long one, guys), I'm still doing a lot of editing and adding in new scenes. But I will try my best to have one chapter posted every week.
> 
> Thanks again for all of the support I've received so far! It means the world to me <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, please check out this INCREDIBLE fanart of Loki dancing in Chapter 7: 
> 
> http://opticleech.tumblr.com/post/53788078270/caught-dancing-thorki-based-on-one-night-with
> 
> Thank you so much, Optic Leech! <3

An eyebrow plucked and freshly manicured Loki sits alone during lunch a few days later, relaxing in the shade of one of the garden trees and ignoring the plate of barely touched food in front of him. A green-tailed lizard is resting on the bark beside him, and Loki wonders if it, too, is a prisoner here.

 

He sighs and thinks of how easy it would be to shape-shift into a lizard and crawl right over the garden wall and away from the palace, though the problem, as always, lies with Heimdall. With his magic sealed and without Angrboda around to help shroud him from Heimdall’s all-seeing gaze, Loki is exposed. Every word spoken, every deed done can now be heard and seen, and Loki is not an outsider any longer; instead, he is — as laughable as it sounds to him — a potential queen of Asgard and wife of King Thor. Though Heimdall may not be watching him every second of the day, shape-shifting into a lizard or a bird or whatever creature he feels like in order to escape the harem would undoubtedly attract the gatekeeper’s attention, and nobody can know he is a shape-shifter — especially Heimdall.

 

If only he could get his damned bracelets off.

 

Loki is letting the lizard crawl up his arm, watching its progress out of the corner of his eye while he fiddles with his bracelets, when a shadow falls over him, causing the frightened reptile to bolt the rest of the way up his arm and hide beneath his hair. Loki frowns up at Skadi. “May I help you?”

 

“I am curious as to whether you frustrate me out of sincerity, or to assure that you’re never chosen queen.”

 

Loki does not need to ask what she means. Yesterday he raised his hand so many times during one of her lectures on skin care that she eventually refused to answer his questions. And later that afternoon, when Balder was called away for a minute, Loki may or may not have added glue to the facial mask he was about to teach them how to apply — by example. It came off without too much difficulty, and Balder laughed it off like no other would; but the disappointed looks he gave Loki were almost enough to make him feel guilty.

 

Almost.

 

He smirks at Skadi. “You assume that I actually care about being chosen queen.”

 

Skadi gestures at his plate. “You eat little. It worries Balder.”

 

“I’m not starving myself in protest, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Skadi just looks at him, and Loki sighs. “I am used to… less. Vegetables grown from mine and Angrboda’s garden, fruit sold in the southeast market… bread that is normal.”

 

“Normal bread?”

 

“Do you call this normal?” Loki asks, holding up a thick brown roll covered in tiny dark seeds.

 

“Those are poppy seeds.”

 

“And these strange little berries with the seeds growing along the outsides of them?”

 

Skadi’s lips twitch, much like they did yesterday as she and Loki helped Balder scrape the mask off his face. Loki figures that this is her way of laughing. “Those are strawberries, from Midgard. They’re quite good. And the seeds you're referring to are actually achenes.”

 

Loki holds up one of the strawberries closer to his eyes and squints at it.

 

“And the meat?” Skadi asks, suddenly noticing that there is not any on his plate. “Was it also not normal enough for you?”

 

“I don’t eat meat.”

 

“Of course you don’t,” she mutters.

 

“Did you need anything else?” Loki asks dismissively.

 

Skadi opens her mouth to answer him but pauses, staring down at him thoughtfully. “Try the strawberries,” she finally says before turning away. “You should also try caring about this competition; you might just win it.”

 

“Me? Win the king’s favor?”

 

“Stranger things have happened,” Skadi calls over her shoulder.

 

Loki watches her go before taking a bite of the strawberry. Not a minute later, he has devoured all of the strawberries on his plate and is licking the juice from his fingers when the lizard from earlier crawls over his head and down his face. Startled, he screams and flails about, knocking over his iced water and drawing the attention of everyone sitting on the other side of the garden.

 

Amora laughs at him all day, but amount of yelling and cursing she lets out that night upon finding the same lizard in her bed more than makes up for it.

  

* * *

  

Their first communal bath is awkward, to say the least.

 

Loki thought he had already lost all sense of modesty until he enters the bathhouse a few minutes late with only a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Most of the girls are already submerged in the water, bodies concealed from the shoulders down thanks to the numerous multi-colored lily blossoms floating around them, but the few who are not quickly shield their breasts with their arms and slip into the nearest bathing pools at the sight of him.

 

Loki ignores the whispers that follow him as he walks over to the pool that his suitemates have already procured. “Hi, Loki,” Sigyn squeaks.

 

“Hello,” Loki murmurs, looking anywhere but at the three of them.

 

“Drop the towel and get in,” Amora says with a roll of her eyes.

 

Loki glares at her but does as she says, untying the knot at his waist and letting the towel fall around his feet. Immediately, all eyes in the bathhouse zero in on him.

 

Or rather, a certain part of him.

 

When a giggle is heard, Loki snaps. “Take a good look,” he sneers at all of them. “It’s the only cock some of you will ever see.”

 

“You’re disgusting,” a girl calls from the pool to his right — Glut, Loki recalls. “If one of us is not bedded by King Thor, it will be you.”

 

Loki grits his teeth. “Let us hope so.”

 

Before she can respond, he jumps into the pool most ungracefully, causing waves in the once-still water and sending lilies flying. Upon resurfacing, he expects his suitemates to be angry with him for splashing them, but they actually look impressed.

 

“Nice,” Amora says, nodding over at Glut.

 

Loki pushes his wet hair out of his face. “Thank you.”

 

“I despise her,” she then tells him, not bothering to lower her voice.

 

Glut huffs and turns to face the other away, and eventually the other girls ignore them and go back to their previous conversations.

 

The bathing pools are five feet deep, leaving more of Loki’s chest exposed than he would like, and so he ducks down a little until the lily blossoms reach his shoulders and the last inch of his hair is submerged in water. Closing his eyes, he breathes in the faint yet unmistakable scent of the surrounding flowers and sighs, enjoying their sweet fragrance as well as the perfect temperature that the water is set at.

 

This part, he could get used to.

 

He opens his eyes just as Lorelei begins to swim closer to him. “So,” she begins, “you are intersexed?” As her gaze slides down Loki’s body, Loki wraps his arms around himself and backs away warily. “What is that… what does that look like?”

 

Loki stares at her incredulously. “Are you asking if you can _look_?”

 

“We already saw half of it,” she is quick to point out.

 

“Can I look at your breasts?”

 

In reply, Lorelei sticks her chest out of the water and near Loki’s face.

 

“It’s called sarcasm, Lorelei!” Loki cries, swimming further away from her.

 

Amora laughs. “You can’t blame us for being curious.”

 

“Leave him alone, both of you,” Sigyn says, the flush on her face too dark for the lukewarm water to have caused — though she does not tear her eyes away from Loki, either.

 

“Fine,” Loki groans, sitting down on the edge of the stone bench that lines the inside of the pool and spreading his legs. “Hurry and get it over with.”

 

All three duck their heads under the water, Sigyn a bit more reluctantly than the other two. She comes up first and smiles sheepishly at Loki, her cheeks an even deeper pink than the lily blossom now caught in her hair. Amora is next, eyebrows raised high but once again looking impressed. When Lorelei does not come up after several seconds, Sigyn grabs her by the hair and pulls her out, ignoring Lorelei’s protests. Loki sends Sigyn a grateful smile.

 

Lorelei flounders for words for a while before finally settling on, “That is… really something.”

 

“That’s what the king will say,” Amora says, and she and Lorelei dissolve into giggles.

 

Loki splashes the two of them before swimming over to sit beside Sigyn. “Remind me why we talk to them?” he asks while readjusting the pink lily in her hair.

 

“Because we’re desperate.”

 

“How could I forget?”

 

Sigyn smiles and slides a particularly ample white lily blossom behind Loki’s left ear.

  

* * *

  

Something is bothering Thor about this entire situation.

 

Something besides the lingering embarrassment of failure and the agony of self-induced celibacy, that is.

 

Fandral and Hogun told him that Hoenir had been the one to escort the boy to the healing wing, and for Hoenir to involve himself in this situation at all — aside from sending Thor disappointed looks and whispering with Odin every time Thor walks by the two of them — is puzzling, to say the least.

 

He tried asking Hoenir about it, but the old man merely replied, “I only did what your mother asked me to.” Thor continued to question him, but Hoenir did little more than reword his original statement every time.

 

Annoyed, Thor went to Odin next. “Talk to your mother,” is what his father said before feigning a yawn and departing to get some “much needed rest.” Typical, Thor thought with an eye roll.

 

Now the very frustrated king of Asgard stands just outside the palace weaving room, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. When his mother eventually exits the room, Thor pounces.

 

“Mother,” he greets in a cheerful tone, taking her arm in his. “Walk with me.”

 

Frigga chuckles. “Thor, you aren’t _not_ allowed in the weaving room. You know this, yes?”

 

“So you’ve told me since I was a boy. That doesn’t make some of those women any less scary, however.”

 

“Saga is a gentle soul.”

 

“My nightmares say otherwise.”

 

Frigga lightly swats her son’s arm. “Thor, stop teasing and tell me what is on your mind.”

 

“I have a question for you.”

 

“I will try to have an answer.”

 

“What is Hoenir’s involvement with the chosen youth?”

 

Frigga raises an eyebrow. “Hoenir? He has no involvement.”

 

“Fandral and Hogun both saw him escorting one of them — a boy — to the healing wing earlier this week.”

 

“Did he?”

 

Thor fixes his mother with a hard stare, to which she responds by blinking at him innocently. “Mother –“

 

“Why are you asking me these questions and not Hoenir? Or your father, for that matter.”

 

“I already tried,” Thor admits sourly. “They wouldn’t tell me and played innocent, much like you’re doing now.”

 

Frigga sighs. “I saw how the boy had been mistreated –“

 

“The muzzle?”

 

“Yes, and so I told Hoenir to remove it and take him to Eir –“

 

“ _Eir_? But she wasn’t performing any examinations –“

 

“Thor, will you let me finish? Honestly. And so Eir gave him his examination on my order because I wanted him to be handled… delicately. And before you find out about this and start interrogating me, you should know that Hoenir was also present when Balder interviewed the boy, but only to replace his manacles with magic-sealing bracelets. If he’s going to be living in the harem for a year, I at least want him to be comfortable.”

 

Thor slowly halts their tracks, frowning. “Oh.”

 

“What were you expecting? A conspiracy?” Frigga chuckles again at Thor’s displeased visage. “Oh, Thor, your father and I are retired now. We’re all out of conspiracies.”

 

“That doesn’t stop either of you from meddling,” Thor grumbles.

 

“Someone has to make sure things run properly around here,” Frigga coos in a patronizing tone, patting Thor’s cheek before retrieving her arm. “Now stop sulking, try to forget about the boy for now, and start focusing on ruling the kingdom, all right? And don’t bother Balder and Skadi about this; after all, they currently have their hands full cleaning up your mistakes.” And with that, she leaves her son to scowl at her retreating back.

 

It hits Thor later that he still does not know the name of this strange, mysterious boy that has been on his mind as of late, let alone any of the other youth being groomed for him. But perhaps it is for the best, he tells himself. Though he hates to admit it, his mother is right — it is time for him to stop sulking and start acting like a king again.

 

Hoenir and the boy can wait.

  

* * *

 

Balder walks into the small harem library and raises his eyebrows at the noticeably emptier shelves. He then spots Loki, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor with piles of books surrounding him.

 

“Did Skadi _actually_ get through to you?”

 

“Pardon?” Loki asks without looking up from the book in his lap, eyes furiously scanning the pages.

 

“Surely you are studying on how to best impress the king.”

 

Loki looks up and frowns at Balder’s teasing grin. “If it pleases you to think so, then be my guest,” he responds before returning to his book.

 

“What are you reading?”

 

“Books on seidr.” Loki turns a page.

 

“If you’re trying to figure out a way to remove the bracelets –“

 

“I’m merely making use of any valuable resources I can find,” Loki explains, before muttering under his breath, “I’d like to see King Odin himself get these damned things off.”

 

“What do you mean?” Balder asks, referring to Loki’s first comment and continuing to ignore the fact that Loki has clearly been trying to remove the bracelets.

 

Loki looks back up at him. “I don’t have these books at home, so I’m taking advantage of them while I’m here.”

 

“Did your uncle teach you at home?”

 

“He did. He taught me in every major subject, along with seidr.”

 

“Impressive.”

 

“Angrboda is brilliant.

 

“I was referring to you, actually, though I have no doubt of Angrboda’s considerable intellect.”

 

Loki furrows his brows. “Why am I impressive?”

 

Instead of answering Loki’s question, Balder comments, “I’ve been told that the magic you’ve been seen using in the southeast market does not always appear to be traditional seidr. How did you learn other forms of magic?”

 

“Well, we already established that Angrboda is brilliant, did we not? He visited many different realms in the past and has taught me much of what he learned during his travels. And magic just... seems to come naturally to me.”

 

“You sound passionate about it.”

 

Loki smiles a little. “I know it’s looked down upon for males to study magic, but my uncle says it is a gift, one that I should appreciate and hone; and so I have. It’s a part of me.”

 

Looking down at his bracelets, Loki’s expression turns sad, and Balder finds his own smile dimming at the sight.

 

As Loki returns to his reading, Balder idly begins scanning the titles on the nearest shelf. “You know, King Odin has more ancient texts on seidr and different forms of magic than any other sorcerer in all the nine realms.”

 

“Does he?” Loki asks, trying to sound disinterested.

 

“He does. I’m sure he would grant you access to his personal archive… if you married his son, that is.”

 

Loki groans and slams his book shut. “Stop. I don’t know why you and Skadi want me to _try_ so badly, but I –“

 

“Try this,” Balder interrupts, tossing him a small, lightweight book.

 

Loki catches it with both hands and examines the cover, frowning. “Introduction to Seidr.” He glares up at Balder. “I need no introduction. I am not a beginner.”

 

“Yes, but this is one of the books that those formally trained in seidr start with,” Balder informs him. “And while I’m sure Angrboda is more than efficient as a tutor, I’d wager that you’ve missed a few of the basics that formal students learn. And even if you haven’t, it won’t hurt to review, will it?”

 

“I suppose not,” Loki says stiffly, before, “Do you practice?”

 

Balder shakes his head. “I wish I did.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“Not every Asgardian is so small-minded,” Balder reminds him. “Or is King Odin not a famed seidrmadr?”

 

“True,” Loki acquiesces.

 

Balder continues, “I have tried my hand at seidr in the past, but it seems that my talents lie mainly in music and spoken word.”

 

“And beauty.”

 

“That too,” Balder says with a wink. “Now, dinner is an hour. You’ll come, won’t you? I was glad to see you eating more yesterday.”

 

“You say that like I have a choice,” Loki deadpans, before, “Yes, I’ll be there.”

 

Balder beams at him. “Excellent.” Just as he is about to leave the room, he looks over his shoulder at Loki in time to see him crack open the book Balder gave him. “By the way…” he waits until Loki looks up at him before finishing, “Your uncle is here to see you.”

 

“Angrboda is here?!”

 

“That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

 

Loki drops the book and scrambles to his feet before rushing past Balder with a joyful grin on his face.

 

“He’s in the main hall!” Balder calls after him. “And you’re welcome!”

 

“Thank you!” he hears yelled back.

 

Balder shakes his head fondly and picks up the book Loki dropped before following after the boy at a much slower pace. When he steps inside the main hall, he sees Angrboda and Loki tightly embracing one another, both of them crying softly and whispering words that Balder cannot hear. He briefly wonders which one of them is actually doing most of the comforting.

 

Just as he is about to head upstairs and give them some privacy, Angrboda looks at Balder over the top of Loki’s head and nods once in thanks. Balder returns his nod and continues on his way.

 

He makes sure to set the book on Loki’s bed before going to contact Hoenir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki is naked a lot in this story, isn't he? I'm just going to go ahead and assume that none of you readers mind ;]
> 
> Also, as you can see from the last section of this chapter, I'm going with the concept that seidr is only one type of magic that exists, and that it's the type mainly practiced by the Aesir. More will be revealed about Loki's magic in time (Loki himself is still figuring it out), but please let me know if anything is confusing to you.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kind words and support <3

From his seat in Hlidskjalf, a tired Thor watches blearily as two men exit the throne room, finally silenced but still shooting each other enraged glances. “Make sure that they leave the palace with any further incidents,” Thor tells the closest guard, who nods and follows the men outside.

 

“Property disputes,” Tyr says from his position below the dais, shaking his head up at Thor.

 

“The worst type of dispute,” Thor agrees with a sigh. He rubs at his eyes and holds back a yawn. “Who’s next?”

 

“We are!” Sif declares, marching through the doors with the Warriors Three, ignoring the guards’ half-hearted protests.

 

“It is all right,” Thor tells the guards before leaning forward with a small smile. “You four are a sight for sore eyes.”

 

Fandral smirks and says, “Yes, we saw who just left.”

 

“Millennia from now and they’ll still be fighting over those five acres,” Volstagg predicts.

 

Thor chuckles. “Probably. Now what can I do for you, my friends?”

 

“You can start by dismissing whoever else is on your schedule for the day and coming on a hunt in the mountains with us,” Sif says.

 

Thor’s smile slowly fades. For a moment, he is truly tempted, but then he remembers the long line of people he must hear today, as well as his mother’s words from a few weeks ago. “I cannot.”

 

Sif’s expectant smile also vanishes. “What? Why?”

 

“I am the king,” Thor nearly splutters. “I’m already behind on hearings as it is… I have been ever since the divorce. I can’t leave now.”

 

“Thor,” Volstagg begins hesitantly, “Of course you are our king, and we _are_ ever loyal to you…”

 

“But you are our friend first,” Sif finishes for him. And perhaps Thor should chide them for always putting friendship above their status as his subjects — he knows he should, in fact — but Sif’s declaration does nothing but warm him inside.

  


It also makes saying "no" to them much harder than it should be. 

 

“We are worried for you,” Fandral says. “You haven’t felt sunlight in weeks!”

 

“That is not true,” Thor protests with a chuckle, but his friends’ faces remain serious. Thor sighs. “I am merely performing the duties I swore to during my coronation. You are unused to seeing me do my job, is all.”

 

Volstagg tries again, “But your father would –“

 

“My father is not the ruling king any longer!” Thor shouts, rising to his feet. His friends immediately step back, weary, and Thor takes a deep breath before continuing less loudly, “Just as I am no longer a prince. I am the king now, and I must start acting like it.”

 

“Then we will leave you to your duties, my king” Hogun says before the others can argue further. “We thank you for your time.” He bows, and the others reluctantly follow suit.

 

Thor wants to command them to stand, to address him by his name instead of his title and to wait for him to tie up loose ends before joining them on their hunt; but instead, he nods once and says nothing as they somberly take their leave. Sif gives him one last look on her way out, but Thor forces himself to ignore her as he sits back down on his throne.

 

“If I may,” Tyr begins a moment after they have gone, and Thor blinks down at his head advisor. “You do seem tired, my king.

 

“I will rest when my work is done.”

 

Tyr smiles up at him, clearly pleased. “Very well. Are you ready for the next hearing? I believe it is another village representative who is next on the list. Probably looking for food or shelter or whatever it is peasants are usually begging for.”

 

Thor snorts and waves a hand. “Send them in.”

 

* * *

 

“I never knew there were so many uses for fruit other than consumption,” Loki says, reclining naked in the bathhouse and lathering his wet skin in coconut oil. Beside him and submerged one of the hot, bubbling pools of water are Sigyn, Amora, and Lorelei, all three equally nude and, at this point, lacking in shyness around one another.

 

“Don’t forget honey,” Lorelei says. “Honey can be used for _everything_.”

 

“The true nectar of the gods,” Amora purrs, floating on her back in the water.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this.” Loki pauses bathing his long legs to smirk at the girls through the wet strands of hair hanging in his eyes. “Except when I become queen, I’ll have you three wash me so I won’t even have to lift a finger.”

 

The three girls look at one another before splashing him at the same time, causing Loki to shriek and the girls to laugh at him. He is thinking on how to best retaliate when the doors suddenly open to reveal Balder. Most of the girls around them submerge themselves further in the water out of habit, but Loki stays where he is without a care for his nudity. Sigyn gives him a look, but Loki shrugs. “What? He’s seen it all before,” he whispers.

 

To their initial surprise, Balder bypasses the other pools and walks straight over to them. Then, unsurprisingly, he stops right in front of Loki and clears his throat expectantly. With his most innocent smile in place, Loki turns his neck and looks up at Balder. “Yes?”

 

“I just wanted to let you know that your uncle is here to see you,” Balder informs him.

 

Loki’s face lights up in a grin. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute!” he exclaims before slipping into the pool to wash the oil off his skin.

 

Balder laughs and leaves to do just that, and once Loki is dried off and dressed, he finds Angrboda sitting on the small settee near the entrance of the harem. Before he can stand to greet his nephew, Loki runs and jumps onto the settee beside him, nearly landing in Angrboda’s lap.

 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Angrboda says, laughing fondly and hugging his grinning nephew tightly.

 

It is only the second visit that Angrboda has been allowed, and Loki still feels no shame in clinging to his uncle like he used to do when he was a small child.

 

“How are you, uncle?” Loki asks, unwrapping his arms from around Angrboda and snuggling into his side. “How is Svad? Come to break me out yet?”

 

“Svadilfari and I are doing well,” Angrboda answers. “And no.” His demeanor turns serious. “How are you, my nephew? Are they treating you well?”

 

“Well enough, imprisonment aside.”

 

They sit in awkward silence for a few moments, Angrboda looking at Loki with glassy eyes and Loki looking anywhere besides at his uncle. They spent their entire first visit crying and reassuring one another, and Loki has no wish to distress Angrboda any further by begging him to take him home again.

 

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth, desperately racking his brain for something pleasant to say. What comes out is, “Want me to tell you what my days are like?” He immediately cringes a little on the inside, but it proves to be the perfect distraction for Angrboda if the relieved expression on his uncle's face is anything to go by.

 

“Please do,” Angrboda says.

 

“Well, we are woken mid-morning –“

 

“They’re torturing you!”

 

Loki slaps his arm. “Stop it.” Hearing his uncle joke, however, brings a grin back to his face, and he happily goes into great detail about his classes and beauty routines and everything he has been taught so far. Angrboda listens attentively, clearly interested yet overwhelmed as Loki speaks loquaciously with few pauses for breathing. Loki has mostly kept to himself since being taken to the harem, and he feels a tiny bit of stress seep from his skin with every word that leaves his lips.

 

When he finishes, Angrboda sits in silence for a long time, brows furrowed as he stares down at the carpet. Finally, he looks back at Loki. “You take three baths a day?”

 

Loki laughs. “I know, right? It’s ridiculous. And you wouldn’t believe some of the things we use for beauty. Coconut oil, milk, honey, sugar, seaweed, cucumbers, lemons, _all kinds_ of flowers… and the list goes on and on.”

 

“Well, they must be working, because you’re glowing,” Angrboda says with pride in his voice, bringing a hand up to cradle Loki’s cheek for a moment. “And they’re feeding you enough, yes?”

 

“Too much, I fear. It seems like every day I’m introduced to food that I didn’t even know existed. They have these delicious red berries from Midgard called strawberries that you simply must try sometime. And chocolate!” Loki’s eyes widen. “Oh, uncle, _chocolate._ The Midgardians know their sweets.”

 

Angrboda chuckles. “It sounds like it. And how are the other girls? Have you become close with any of them?”

 

“The three girls I share a suite with are tolerable,” Loki responds with a shrug. “We spend a lot of time together, not that we have much of a choice.”

 

“Tell me about them.”

 

“Well, there’s Sigyn, who is really nice.” Loki frowns suspiciously. “Almost too nice, really. And innocent… But I still like her. Odd, isn’t it?”

 

“Very,” Angrboda deadpans.

 

“And then there’s Amora and Lorelei, who are sisters. Lorelei, the younger of the two, is… absurd, but hilarious. And Amora is a little scary sometimes, but I appreciate her cleverness. They both _really_ want to marry King Thor, though.” Loki shudders.

 

“I always wanted you to make friends,” Angrboda says softly. “I really did. I just couldn’t risk anyone finding –“

 

“I know, uncle, it’s fine.” Loki refrains from rolling his eyes. “And I hesitate to call any of these girls my friends just yet. One of them could stab me in the back at any given moment.”

 

“Not if you stab them first,” Angrboda points out, and Loki laughs delightedly. “Are you sleeping well?”

 

“Well enough,” Loki replies. Looking into his uncle’s eyes, he cannot help but admit quietly, “Some nights I still cry a lot. I just miss you and Svad so much. I want to come home.”

 

“You will,” Angrboda promises, blinking back tears. “You will.”

 

“Eleven more months to go… if I’m not kicked out, that is.”

 

“Loki, what did I tell you last time?”

 

“Behave and do as I’m told,” Loki answers with a sigh.

 

“That’s right. Eleven more months and you’re home, Loki. You can do this.”

 

“What? You don’t think I’ll become queen?” Loki teases.

 

Angrboda scoffs. “Of course not.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

“Stop it, Loki. You know what I mean. Based on the king’s track record –“

 

“He only likes females?”

 

“He’s too foolish to see what is right in front of him.”

 

Loki smiles and lays his head on Angrboda's shoulder. “Balder and Skadi certainly think I’ve got a shot. They’re constantly begging me to take this more seriously… I think Balder is even trying to bribe me with books on seidr.” He snorts. “They actually think I could win this competition. Can you believe that?”

 

“Ignore them,” Angrboda is quick to reply with. Loki looks up at him without lifting his head, eyebrows raised. “I mean, do whatever they tell you do to, but just –“

 

“It’s all right, uncle.” Loki pats his hand. “I’ll merely pretend to try.”

 

“Pretending _is_ one of your many talents.”

 

“Well, I’ve had eighteen decades of practice.” Angrboda snorts, and Loki mulls over whether he should ask the question that has been bothering him as of late. “Uncle, what do you think my… my brothers would do if they knew what was happening?” Loki feels Angrboda's body stiffen from where he is curled against him. “Uncle?”

 

“It’s best if they don’t find out.” When Loki looks up at him, Angrboda continues while looking elsewhere, “They might endanger you further by coming here, and we can’t risk that." His eyes meet Loki's. " _They_ can’t risk that.”

 

Loki sighs. “I know.”

 

Angrboda puts his arm around Loki’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “They will send for us someday, my nephew. I promise. When our home is restored, they will send for us.”

 

Loki closes his eyes and prays to his parents that Angrboda is right.

  

* * *

 

Late that night, Loki is woken by the sound of crying. When he goes to wipe his eyes, he is surprised to find them dry and his face tear-free. Then another soft sob is heard.

 

Annoyed at what must be one of his suitemates, he lies back down and attempts to go back to sleep. When the crying continues, he pulls the covers over his head and burrows into his pillow, trying to block out the sound. But after a few minutes have passed and he can still hear someone crying, Loki gives up, sighing dramatically and stumbling out of bed.

 

Creeping out into the living room, he realizes that the sound is too close to be from either Amora or Lorelei’s rooms, which are on the other side of the suite, and so he quietly ventures into the room beside his. Sure enough, the weeping is coming from Sigyn’s bed, and thanks to the generous moonlight flooding through the window, Loki can see her form shaking beneath the many blankets she has bundled herself in.

 

“Sigyn,” Loki whispers, padding over to stand beside her bed. When that does not work, he whispers her name louder.

 

Without ceasing her crying, Sigyn’s wet eyes peek over the blankets at him. “Loki?”

 

“Are you… well?” Loki asks awkwardly, even though the answer is obvious.

 

“No, not really.” Sigyn slowly sits up and moves to one side of her bed in a wordless invitation. After a quick internal debate, Loki accepts and gingerly sits down beside her. “I just…” Loki remains silent as she furiously swipes at her eyes. “I don’t want to marry King Thor.”

 

“That’s it?” Loki asks, and Sigyn glares at him, her face glowing pink. “I mean… who does?”

 

“Everyone in this harem but us, apparently,” she snaps, before sighing. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to say anything to Amora and Lorelei, because… well, you know how they are.”

 

“Unfortunately.” Sigyn laughs despite herself, and Loki leans against the headboard of her bed. “Why don’t you want to marry him?”

 

Sigyn looks at him like he is insane. “I do not love him!”

 

“Since when is marriage about love?”

 

Sigyn rolls her eyes. “Please. I am well aware that many marry out of convenience or for other reasons, but that doesn’t mean that I must do the same. I've never even met the king.”

 

“Sigyn?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Not that I don’t believe you, but why are you really crying?”

 

Sigyn sniffs and looks away from Loki. “I feel terrible for this, but… I suppose that I’m jealous.”

 

“Of whom?”

 

“You.”

 

Loki blinks. “Come again?”

 

“Your uncle came to visit you. Again.” She pauses for a long moment, and Loki waits for her to continue. “Please don’t be angry, but I may have… stumbled upon the two of you this afternoon.” Sigyn briefly glances at him before looking away again, and Loki’s eyes widen.

 

“What did you hear?” he asks shakily, sifting through his memories for any mention of Jotun, Jotnar, Jotunheim, or any combination of the three. Thankfully, Sigyn does not appear to notice his nervousness.

 

“Nothing, it’s just… ever since being taken to the harem, my mother has not once tried to contact me. She doesn’t care about me at all… except that I marry the king.”

 

Loki is glad that Sigyn is still not looking at him and therefore misses his quick expression of relief. His mind then catches up with what Sigyn has just shared with him. “And your father?” he asks.

 

“I haven’t seen him since I was a child.” When Loki says nothing, she continues, “My mother is currently married to her third husband, but I doubt this one will last much longer.”

 

“So that’s why you want to marry for love. You don’t want to end up like your mother.”

 

“That's part of it, yes. Is that so strange?”

 

Loki squeezes her arm comfortingly. “No, of course not. And who knows? Maybe you and the king _will_ fall in love.”

 

“Maybe,” Sigyn says. A moment later, she asks, “So why do _you_ not want to marry the king, then?”

 

“I have my own kingdom to worry about.”

 

“I’m serious, Loki.”

 

“Because I don’t want to marry someone who might banish me the next time he decides to become intoxicated. Because, like you said, I don’t even know him, and the tales of his greatness in battle and the rumors of his talent in the bedroom do not interest me at all. Because I’d be a terrible queen, in it only for my own gain.”

 

“…Is that all?”

 

Loki exhales. “Those are a few of the main reasons, yes.”

 

Sigyn bites her lip. “I just… I don’t want to become queen, but I really, _really_ don’t want to go home.”

 

As her eyes start to tear up again, Loki nudges her shoulder playfully. “Well, if we somehow fall into an alternate universe where I _do_ become queen, I’ll command you to be my handmaiden and live with me in the palace. I’ll even bar your mother and her current husband from the premises, if you so desire.”

 

Tears forgotten, Sigyn giggles and abruptly throws her arms around Loki, nearly causing him to fall off the bed. “You’re such a good friend, Loki.”

 

A very confused Loki hesitantly hugs her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus continues Thor's quarter-life crisis. But at least Loki has made a friend, whether he wanted to or not.
> 
> As for when Thor and Loki will share another scene together: soon, very soon. *rubs hands together*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for the long wait! Real life totally got in the way, but things have slowed down for me now, so you guys can expect another update again soon.
> 
> That being said, Ao3 was acting weird when I posted the last chapter, and a few readers told me that they never received notifications for it. Therefore, you might want to make sure you've read Chapter 9 before reading Chapter 10!

“As the king watches over the nine realms from Hlidskjalf, so must the queen watch over the Aesir…”

 

Loki reclines on one of the many lounge pillows laid out on the floor, his elbow resting on the low windowsill beside him and his eyes gazing out the clear panes of glass as Skadi drones on and on about the duties the queen of Asgard must perform.

 

She and Balder have finally begun to teach the youth about more than just beauty, much to Loki’s relief; if he is forced to be here, he figures he might as well learn something useful for when — if — he is allowed back into Jotunheim to live with his brothers and serve his true people as the prince he really is. However, instead of happily listening or taking notes like he should be doing, Loki is content to let his mind wander and to daydream.

 

In some ways, living in the harem has gotten easier for him during his second month. Sigyn, Amora, and Lorelei have all proclaimed him to be their friend during this time, something Loki has never experienced before. It still overwhelms him when he thinks about it too hard, but Loki kind of likes having friends — or allies, as he prefers to call them, even if he is wary to consider Amora and Lorelei actual allies just yet.  He still does not trust the two sisters, just as they do not trust him; but they respect each other, and that is worth far more than the contempt he shares with some of the other youth he is forced to live with, not to mention his indifference for the rest.

 

Loki has also grown slightly fond of Balder and Skadi, though he would never admit it to anyone. He and Balder talk in the library sometimes, just the two of them, about magic and music and anything else they fancy discussing. Skadi, on the other hand, still eyes Loki suspiciously and frowns in response to every cheeky smile and sarcastic remark he sends her way; but with the way her lips more often than not twitch when he speaks to her, Loki is convinced that she is fond of him also — though she would probably never admit it, either.

 

“The queen is like a mother to her people, loving and nurturing yet just as protective as the king, or the father, is…”

 

Angrboda is now granted visits once a week, and the two of them have never been as affectionate with each other as they are now, with Loki ever-attached to Angrboda’s side and Angrboda’s arm practically refusing to leave Loki’s shoulders during their visits. Spending time with Angrboda calms Loki, and makes it easier for him to endure living in the harem. He refuses to think about what would have happened had he and his uncle been denied to see each other.

 

But despite all of this, Loki is growing restless. The worst part of his situation, he thinks now, is being confined to one place. The harem seems to grow smaller and smaller every day, and as Loki stares out the window at the pretty green field in the distance, he cannot help but wish he was walking through it. He imagines that he would lie down in the lush grass, stare up at the sky, and spot shapes in the clouds until he falls asleep in the sunlight. Or perhaps he would visit at night, under the soft light of the moons, and identify constellations within the stars.

 

“Loki!” Skadi snaps, and Loki nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks over to see Skadi shooting him an incensed glare. “Pay attention.”

 

“I am!” Loki protests, faux outrage on his face.

 

Skadi places her hands on her hips. “Then what did I just say?”

 

“That while a king must be firm in judgment, a queen should be merciful and compassionate.”

 

Skadi looks at him shrewdly for a long moment before eventually peeling her eyes away and continuing her lecture. As she talks, Loki tries to keep his eyes from straying towards the window, but every few seconds he cannot help but take another glance outside.

 

He misses the outdoors terribly. In particular, he misses the woods behind his and Angrboda’s cottage, where he would climb trees and attempt to balance on fallen logs and wade in the shallow creek. He even misses the southeast market of all places, the dirt and the noise and the stench of too many people pressed closely together. In both places, he never ran out of discoveries, never wanted for adventure.

 

And though he spends much of his time in the harem garden, Loki has combed every inch of it already, and he now craves new territory to explore. As of right now, that field looks like a gold mine to him, and aside from Balder and Skadi and the palace guards, there is only one thing truly keeping him from it: Heimdall.

 

“ _Loki_!”

 

Loki’s head whips back around, but instead of lashing out or defending himself, he politely raises his hand instead. “I have a question.”

 

“What about?” Skadi asks, exasperated.

 

“Why doesn’t Heimdall tell the king of every crime that is committed in Asgard? Surely he sees all of them.”

 

It takes a moment for Skadi to respond. “Well, Heimdall only reports to the king on matters considered urgent –“

 

“Such as?”

 

“War. Treason.” Skadi narrows her eyes. “One of you leaving the palace grounds.”

 

“Oh. Thank you. I was just wondering.”

 

“Heimdall watches _us_?” one girl cries, which sends most of the other girls into an upset, blushing frenzy. As Skadi goes on to explain to the others that no, Heimdall is not a voyeur, Loki smirks.

 

That field is still within the palace grounds, after all.

  

* * *

  

Loki wants to leave immediately, but he forces himself to wait a few days and plan not only the best way to escape the harem, but also the best way to sneak back in without detection. This involves mulling over his options during the day and staying up late at night to study the guards from his bedroom window, carefully noting their patterns and how timely they are in their routine walks. Since the field is on the side of the harem opposite to the palace, there is nothing around it for miles until one reaches the walls that border the palace grounds. And considering that most of the outdoor guards patrol closer to the actual palace, Loki figures that they will be easy to bypass all together, even without his magic.

 

He would normally leave by scaling down his bedroom wall — a method he often used at home whenever he wanted to sneak past Angrboda at night — but considering that a guard walking the pathways just beyond the garden might notice a sheet dangling from his window, he decides to take the easier route of just creeping out the back doors. Balder and Skadi are heavy sleepers, something Loki had long ago taken it upon himself to know about, so they will also not be a problem.

 

He just has to trust that Heimdall, who will surely be watching him, will wait and see what Loki actually does — or rather, does not do — before alerting the king.

 

In truth, the time he spends planning should be enough time for his rationality to kick back in, but once Loki is determined to do something, he rarely allows anyone or anything to change his mind, including himself. It does not help that the day he has planned for his temporary escape turns out to be an especially frustrating day made difficult by Skadi’s short temper and Glut’s pointed whisperings behind his back. By that afternoon, Loki cannot be swayed; he is going to sneak out, consequences be damned.

 

He fears that he will go insane if he does not.

 

Early spring in Asgard produces cold nights, and Loki is glad that he dressed accordingly when he steps outside long after everyone has gone to sleep. Though the hood of his cloak is pulled up to conceal most of his face, he revels in the light wind hitting what little of his skin is exposed, and the hint of frost brings a grin to his face.

 

Climbing over the garden wall is more difficult than expected, and Loki is especially thankful that no one is there to witness it. Once on the other side, he inches alongside the wall, keeping to the shadows until he is on the side of the harem that is across from the field.

 

Then, with one last look around to make sure he is alone, Loki runs.

 

He cannot help but laugh a little as he runs — softly, of course. His heart is pounding, and his smile is almost painfully wide. Even if he is caught, he decides that it will be worth it for getting to run beneath the night sky again, feeling a sweet burn in the muscles of his legs as the icy wind blows through his hair, leaving goose bumps along his arms and neck.

 

He comes to a stop in the middle of the field and stretches out his arms as he grins up at the sky in defiance. Let Heimdall come, he silently proclaims, let King Thor bring his army and the force of Mjolnir down upon him — he will take on all of them.

 

For he is Loki, of Jotunheim.

 

With that thought, he breathes a deep sigh and collapses on top of the soft ground, letting the tall, dark blades of grass conceal his form. As he lies there and stares up at the numerous stars dotting the sky, his thoughts slowly begin to sober as his adrenaline rush fades. He knows he cannot linger for very much longer, and a stray tear slips free of one eye at the reminder that he must return to his prison. It is not even his safety that he cares about anymore — it is Angrboda’s, and that of Jotunheim and his brothers. It is for them that he will not keep running, though he desperately wants to run and never look back. He lets the stray tear slip down his neck and into his clothes, not bothering to lift a hand to wipe it away; it leaves a cold, wet trail in its wake.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers up at the stars, uncaring that Heimdall is probably listening. “If only I hadn’t disobeyed Angrboda…” He sniffles. “I miss you. Both of you.”

 

Just as he starts to rise from the ground to head back, a short, hard gust of freezing wind blows over the field, whistling through the blades of grass and flowing over Loki’s skin like water.

 

He smiles. “I love you, too.”

  

* * *

  

Thor glares down at the papers before him, elbows on his desk and fingers massaging his aching temples. If only the responsibilities of a king stayed in the battlefield where Thor wishes they belonged.

 

Before, Thor’s physical ailments could be attributed to his shame and, according to him, a lack of sex, but now it is deprivation of sun, proper nutrition, and sleep that plagues his mind and body, so much so that sex barely even crosses his mind anymore (which is a concern for Thor in and of itself).

 

The words on the pages are written clearly and concisely, and perhaps Thor could have read them easily on any other day. But now as he sits in his study, sore eyes having to reread each paragraph more than once in order to comprehend what is written, he contemplates going for a late-night walk through the palace grounds, a habit he has formed as of late when he is unable to sleep.

 

Knocking himself out with Mjolnir is another option that crosses his mind.

 

Just as his eyes start to slip closed again, a knock comes to the door. “Enter,” Thor rasps, clearing his throat immediately after.

 

When he sees that it is Odin, he sits up straighter and furiously blinks his eyes a few times.

 

“Son. It’s late.”

 

Looking at his father’s still-imposing figure in the doorway, he is suddenly reminded of all the times when he was a child and he refused to go to bed when told. Those nights usually ended with Odin dragging him by the ear to his rooms, scolding him all the while as Frigga watched on, exasperated yet more than a little amused.

 

Smiling at his father fondly, Thor asks, “Have you come to drag me to my rooms?”

 

Odin chuckles and sits down in one of the chairs across from Thor’s desk. “Sort of.”

 

Thor narrows his eyes. “My friends sent you, didn’t they?” Thor asks, though he already knows the answer. They have not taken too well to Thor’s ignoring them as of late, though it is not Thor’s intentions to upset them. After all, he misses them, too.

 

“They may have cornered me in a hallway earlier and petitioned me,” Odin responds with a shrug. “But I have been meaning to speak with you for a while now.” Before Thor can reply, he gestures at the papers scattered all over Thor’s desk and asks, “What are you reading?”

 

“Reports on the conflict between Svartalfheim and Jotunheim.”

 

“What is the conflict?”

 

“What _isn’t_ a conflict when Jotunheim is involved,” Thor mutters, before shaking his head. “As we all know, Queen Alflyse has been fighting a band of traitors within her own people, but now the leader of the opposition — this Malekith — is said to have garnered the support of King Helblindi… or so these papers are telling me.” Thor looks at his father in confusion. “What would the Jotun king have to gain by getting involved with Svartalfheim’s problems? And why would Malekith bother with support from a realm as poor and broken as Jotunheim?”

 

“I know not,” Odin replies, brows furrowed. “Have you spoken with Tyr?”

 

“He’s the one who gave me these reports,” Thor grumbles, before leaning back in his chair and allowing his eyelids to rest. “No matter. I’ll simply force him to explain it during the council meeting tomorrow.”

 

“Thor, your mother and I are pleased with how hard you’ve been working these past few weeks –“

 

“I know it’s not enough,” Thor interrupts, opening his eyes. “I’m trying, it’s just –“

 

Odin holds up a hand. “We’re concerned that you’re not getting enough rest.”

 

Thor stares at him blankly. “I’m barely able to read my advisor’s notes, let alone understand them. And you think I need to _rest_?”

 

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? The shadows beneath your eyes are not very becoming, son.” As Thor shrugs in reluctant agreement, Odin continues, “We’ve all noticed how exhausted you are — your mother and I, your friends, your advisors… We’re worried about you.”

 

Thor sighs. There is so much he wants to share with his father — his fears, his disappointments, his dreams for the kingdom — but instead, all he says is, “I just want to do this right.”

 

“I know you do,” Odin says gently. “Let us help you.”

 

“But you and mother already do so much.”

 

“When I became the reigning king of Asgard,” Odin begins with a wry smile as Thor holds back another sigh, “I had no one to help me with my first few years of ruling… until your mother, that is. But I always wished that my parents had still been alive to guide me. Imagine how much better a king you will be for it.”

 

“I’m not sure that I can ever be the king you were… the king you still are,” Thor confesses. “But I’d like to try.”

 

“The first step is to rest, Thor. For weeks after your divorce, you were training almost non-stop, and now we are barely able to drag you outside to get some fresh air. You need to rest, and balance your time in a way that allows you to perform your duties as king as well as enjoy life and take care of yourself.”

 

Thor huffs. “That sounds impossible.”

 

“It’s not,” Odin says simply, rising from his chair. “Now come.”

 

Thor obeys, and the two of them exit the study together.

 

“What is the second step?” Thor asks as he and Odin walk towards the royal family wing, arms around each other’s backs.

 

“Having a queen who is much stronger and wiser than you are, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Thor. Big guy still has so much to learn. And as for Loki, well... it's just impossible for him to behave for very long!
> 
> I can't believe I've posted 10 chapters of a Thorki fic with no actual Thorki in it yet. I... I'm so sorry. But I'll go ahead and say that the next 10 chapters of this fic will answer many of the questions you guys have had, especially about Jotunheim, and we'll also get a clearer picture of what's going to happen to Loki.
> 
> And I can promise you all that Chapter 11 is definitely relevant to our interests ;D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another thank you note, this time for all of you who have read, commented, given kudos, etc. to a Thorki fic that hasn't really had any actual Thorki in it yet. So much love to all of you <3

“Loki.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Loki!”

 

Without opening his eyes, Loki shifts his body a little.

 

“Loki, wake up.”

 

More silence.

 

“Loki…”

 

“No.”

 

Loki’s eyes fly open as something hits his bicep, hard, and his hands desperately latch onto the sides of the wide branch he is lying on to keep from falling. Blinking wildly, he takes in his surroundings, recognizing the leaves of his favorite garden tree and the opened book resting in his lap. And then he looks down to find Balder smiling up at him, uneaten apple in hand.

 

Loki scowls. “That hurt,” he whines, rubbing his arm.

 

Balder polishes the dirt off his apple with his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’ll probably bruise.”

 

“It’ll heal in time.”

 

“What if I had fallen?”

 

“We’d call Eir.”

 

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs until he realizes that he is doing what Skadi often does in his presence. He shakes his head at Balder. “I’m becoming a bad influence on you.”

 

Balder chuckles. “That you are. Won’t you come down? I wish to speak with you without craning my neck.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes but complies, tossing his book down and assuming that Balder will catch it — he does — before climbing down onto the lower branches until he is able to jump to the ground without fear of hurting his feet.

 

Once level with Balder, he goes to take his book back, but Balder holds it up and studies the cover of it. “Elemental magic?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Interesting. How’s that going for you?”

 

“Fantastic, considering that I am unable to practice anything I learn.”

 

Balder’s head dips a little, but his smile remains as bright and beautiful as ever. Loki tries not to hate him. “You will not have to wear those bracelets forever, Loki.”

 

Tired of similar sentiments and not wishing to give Balder an opening as to why Loki should actively try to become queen, he instead asks, “What did you need of me?”

 

Balder hands him back his book. “We’ve noticed that you’ve been nodding off during lectures a lot lately.” Loki opens his mouth to respond, but Balder holds up a hand. “I’m not here to scold you, Loki; I’m merely concerned. Are you not sleeping well?”

 

Loki shrugs. “I’ve just been especially tired lately; that’s all.” His traitorous body follows this up with a yawn, and Balder pats his shoulder.

 

“You’ll tell me if it worsens, won’t you?”

 

“You have my word.” Balder’s eyes twinkle in amusement, and Loki glares at him. “Lastly,” Balder continues jovially, “I thought you might like to know that your uncle should be visiting after dinner.”

 

Loki beams, as he always does when he knows that Angrboda is coming to see him. “Good. I want to discuss this book with him.”

 

“You’ll discuss it with me next, of course.”

 

“But of course.”

 

Balder holds out his apple to Loki. “Apple?”

 

Loki’s eyes narrow at the golden-colored fruit. “Is it from Idunn’s orchard?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then no, thank you.”

 

Balder guffaws. “I should have never let you read that book.”

 

“But how is it that no one has ever stolen one?” Loki cries as Balder bites into the apple. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

 

Balder chews thoughtfully before swallowing. “Believe what you want, but no soul has ever been able to steal from Idunn’s orchard,” he insists. “It is a fact. The king himself wouldn’t be able to get past her shields.”

 

Loki smirks. “Ah, but the king is not Loki.”

 

“Thank the Norns.”

 

“…I’m climbing back up now.”

 

Balder bursts into laughter, and even Loki cannot hide his smile before he turns away, silently dismissing Balder.

 

Once alone again and settled back onto his branch, Loki tries to continue his reading but, just like earlier, begins yawning again.

 

He has been sneaking out almost every other night for the past couple of weeks, staying out later and later nearly every time. Last night was the latest he has stayed out so far, slipping back inside the harem just before sunrise.

 

It is foolish of him, he knows; but it is freeing and exhilarating to be outside the harem grounds, even if it is just for a few hours in the cold. And if Heimdall is watching him, he must not be saying anything. Still, Loki really should lie low lest Balder and Skadi start to suspect, but every time he tells himself that he is going to, he ends up sneaking out again anyway.

 

Just as he silently vows to stay in tonight and sleep, Loki absentmindedly looks over at the royal stables in the distance just in time to see two young stable hands lead a pair of horses inside. Then he thinks of Svadilfari and sighs.

 

If only he could sneak out to visit Svad.

  

* * *

  

“How was the council meeting this morning?” Sif asks cautiously as she, Thor, and Volstagg watch Fandral and Hogun practice their hand-to-hand combat in the training courtyard.

 

A look of contempt crosses Thor’s face.

 

Since his father’s so-called intervention, Thor has followed his advice by getting a healthier amount of sleep, as well as making time to train and visit with his friends. He feels better physically, for the most part, but recent dealings with the council still leave him exhausted and confused and doubtful in his abilities as king, even with the help of his parents.

 

“That bad?” Volstagg asks.

 

Thor pauses, wondering how much he should tell his friends. “There are things happening that… worry certain members of the council. They think we should step in, take action.”

 

Sif hums. “What do you think?”

 

“I’m not sure yet,” Thor answers before sighing.

 

Of the twelve council members, it is actually only Tyr and three others who support getting involved in the Svartalfheim conflict, while Hoenir is firmly against it. The rest are wary of Tyr’s suggestions or disinterested at best, but Thor knows how persuasive Tyr can be. Thor’s instincts tell him to wait, and his parents agree; yet somehow Tyr’s insistence on offering aid to Queen Alflyse still has him questioning himself.

 

“Hogun, slow down!” Fandral cries, and Thor snaps out of his thoughts to see Hogun slowly but surely backing Fandral into a corner of the ring.

 

“Aren’t you glad you’re here with us?” Volstagg exclaims, throwing a heavy arm around Thor and grinning. “This is far more entertaining than anything your council could come up with.”

 

From the fighting ring, Fandral goes down with a loud groan, and Thor replies loudly, “Yes, watching Fandral get annihilated is certainly entertaining.”

 

“To Hel with all of you,” Fandral calls out weakly from the floor, and Hogun looks on smugly while the others laugh.

 

Putting Svartalfheim out of his mind for now, Thor turns to Sif. “Want to show them how it’s done?”

 

Sif grins. 

 

* * *

  

When Loki yawns for the third time, Angrboda frowns. “Are you all right?” At Loki’s confused expression, he explains, “You seem tired.”

 

“If you had to learn about what it means to be a queen of Asgard as well as proper table etiquette and nail care, you’d nod off, too.”

 

Angrboda chuckles. “At least you’ll come home with vast amounts of knowledge.”

 

“Yes, and such valuable knowledge, at that,” Loki deadpans. “Knowing how to keep my cuticles soft will surely save my life someday.”

 

“I was actually referring to that kind of knowledge,” Angrboda corrects, nodding at the book in Loki’s lap that they had discussed earlier.

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

Smiling, Angrboda leans in and kisses Loki’s forehead before standing from the settee.

 

Loki pouts up at him. “Leaving already?”

 

“I’m actually visiting you before I have to work tonight,” Angrboda explains.

 

“You’re working overnight? Why?”

 

“I –“

 

“Don’t tell me King Thor is having another feast,” Loki interrupts with a gleeful sneer.

 

“Actually –“

 

“He only has one queen left to banish, and I’m not sure King Odin would take to that very well.”

 

“ _Stop_.” Loki snickers. “They’re merely short on hands tonight,” Angrboda continues with a light glare. “Poor Svadilfari and I will be here until morning, most likely.”

 

“Well, I –“ Loki pauses. “ _Oh_.” Angrboda raises an eyebrow, but Loki sets his book aside and jumps up, wrapping his arms around his uncle before he can say anything. “I wish you could stay longer,” Loki continues in a sad tone.

 

Angrboda hugs his nephew tightly. “So do I.”

 

Loki smirks into Angrboda’s shoulder before pulling away with a resigned expression. “Well, I think I’ll go do some more reading before bed.” And with a parting kiss to his uncle’s cheek, Loki grabs his book and saunters out of the room, leaving what is sure to be a confused and slightly worried Angrboda standing in the main hall alone.

 

Instead of going to the library or the garden, however, Loki tells Balder that he wishes to retire early in order to get the extra rest he needs — to which Balder happily agrees — and bids goodnight to his suitemates before locking himself in his room. Once midnight has passed and the others have fallen asleep, Loki quietly makes his way in the direction of the stables.

 

He has never actually ventured out quite this far, but it proves to be an easy path, and Loki is easily able to dodge each guard who crosses his path on the way there.

 

But just as he is about to pull open one of the smaller side doors, Loki catches movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up in time to see a large, black bird swoop down from the sky and land on a fence post right beside him. Loki jumps back, startled, and examines the powerful-looking raven with wide, curious eyes. Then he realizes that the raven appears to be examining him as well, its head cocked to the side as black, beady eyes run over his frame. Loki feels a shiver go up his spine but nods politely at the bird before hurrying inside, making sure to shut the door fully behind him.

 

It is warm inside the stables, a stark contrast to the low temperature outside, and the air, while not necessarily unpleasant, is still undeniably filled with the stench of animals. But it is clean inside, cleaner than any other stable in the nine realms, Loki imagines. The lighting is very dim, for many of the animals are sleeping, but Loki takes care to walk swiftly yet quietly in order not to wake or startle any of them.

 

One thing he did not realize while observing from the windows of the harem and the branches of the garden trees is how long and wide the stables actually are. He walks by stall after stall of horses, and there is still no Svadilfari in sight. But once he progresses past a certain point, the stalls become smaller and the floor appears less pristine, and Loki deduces that this is the section where the servants’ horses are kept. There are not many horses here, as most of the servants who stay overnight are the ones who either live inside the palace or just outside of it, and so Loki walks past several empty stalls, his eyes squinting in the even poorer lighting as he searches for his stallion.

 

And then he spots him.

 

Without thinking, Loki runs over to him, causing Svadilfari to neigh and attempt to rear up in his tiny stall in surprise. Loki quickly pulls down the hood of his cloak and holds his hands up. “Svadilfari, it’s me! Loki!”

 

Svadilfari continues to look anxious and wide-eyed, but he stills and allows Loki to step closer to him. “It’s me, Loki,” Loki repeats softly, and Svadilfari knickers and comes over to meet him, sticking his head out of his stall.

 

Once he is sure Svadilfari is calmed, Loki throws his arms around his friend’s neck and cries, breathing in his scent and mouthing endearments into his black fur. Eventually, he pulls back, smiling and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I’ve missed you so, so much.”

 

Svadilfari leans closer to Loki’s face and licks him, causing Loki to laugh delightedly. Just then, there is a creak nearby, and Loki freezes in place for a moment, thinking a stable hand might be around the corner. But when nothing happens, he shrugs at Svadilfari and assumes it was just another animal.

 

“We have to be quiet,” he tells Svadilfari seriously. Svadilfari just licks him again with his long, slippery tongue, drawing another giggle from Loki.

  

* * *

  

Though he retired early to get plenty of sleep before the council meeting tomorrow, Thor finds himself wide-awake just past midnight, tossing and turning in his bed. With a frustrated growl he eventually gives up and, after redressing, leaves his room to go for a walk outside. The guards he passes on his way out of the palace only nod in respect, having gotten used to their restless king’s late night walks, especially as of late.

 

He did not have a particular destination in mind, but Thor’s feet end up taking him in the direction of the stables. At this time of night, no one except the animals themselves are usually inside; because of this, Thor has often used the stables as a place to hide himself away from his parents, friends, and advisors, basking in the solitude he has rarely been allowed since his coronation.

 

However, just as he is about to enter the front doors to the stables, Huginn appears seemingly out of nowhere and lands on his outstretched arm. “Huginn? What are you doing out here?” Thor asks, bewildered. Huginn looks at Thor before deliberately turning his head towards the stables, and Thor’s brows furrow. “Is something wrong? Is someone in there?”

 

In answer, Huginn takes off, only to land on the roof beside Muninn. From their perch, the two birds look down at Thor pointedly.

 

Thor pulls Mjolnir off his belt and nods at his father’s birds before opening one of the heavy doors and slipping inside. He stalks through the stables like a hunter, keeping to the shadows so that the dim lighting will not give him away, eyes and ears strained for any sign of an intruder.

 

As he makes his way further inside, his well-trained ears detect a voice speaking softly — male, Thor notes, and fairly young — though to who or what he does not know. Gripping Mjolnir tightly, Thor follows the voice as quietly as he can, expecting to find a thief but prepared for whatever may come.

 

It is when he rounds a corner towards the far side of the stables that he spots his prey, and he nearly drops Mjolnir in surprise.

 

It is the boy, the magic user who was bound and muzzled when he was first brought to the palace and the one who Thor caught dancing in the harem garden all those months ago — something his friends still occasionally tease him about. Recognizing the gold bracelets gleaming on the boy’s wrists, Thor wonders how he escaped the harem in the first place.

 

Then memories of the boy dancing flood Thor’s mind, and he nearly laughs out loud. Grinning, he examines the tall, lean youth with interest, taking note of pale-white skin that glows even in poor lighting and wavy hair the color of Huginn and Muninn’s wings.

 

He knows he should call a guard to escort the boy back to the harem, but the more Thor watches the boy sweetly interact with one of the horses, the more amused he becomes. Thor grins even wider and, deciding to have a little fun with the unsuspecting boy while he has a chance, reattaches Mjolnir to his belt before creeping closer.

 

* * *

 

“Is Angrboda taking care of himself?” Loki asks Svadilfari as he feeds him oats from the palm of his hand. “I know he can’t do anything without me, but still.” Svadilfari snorts, causing Loki to giggle and pet his neck affectionately. “And you, are you behaving yourself, my friend?”

 

“I see that you aren’t,” comes a low voice from behind him, and Loki spins around in surprise. Svadilfari makes a frightened noise behind his back, but Loki only has eyes and ears for the stone-faced king in front of him.

 

For even in the dim lighting, Loki knows that it is undoubtedly Thor standing before him, large and blonde and absolutely terrifying up close. And judging by the stern look on Thor’s face, the king is not happy.

 

The proper thing to do in this situation would be to bow, but Loki, afraid and not thinking clearly, decides to run as if the king had not already gotten a clear view of his face. He barely takes two steps before a large hand fists itself in the back of his cloak and tunic, effortlessly holding Loki in place as if he is no more than a child. “And just where do you think you’re going?” Thor asks before taking hold of Loki’s shoulders and pinning him against the wall with ease.

 

Though his heart is pounding, Loki takes a deep breath to try and clear his mind before looking up at Thor demurely through his lashes. “I apologize, your majesty. You merely frightened me.”

 

Thor looks at him for a long moment before releasing his shoulders, but he does not take a step back, using his great build to intimidate Loki. Though there are only a few inches of height between them, the king is nearly twice as broad as Loki is and possesses more muscle than Loki thought possible; with one look at the arms caging him in, Loki has never felt so small before. “What are you doing here?” When Loki hesitates, eyes caught on the menacing-looking hammer hanging on Thor’s belt, Thor follows up with a severe, “Answer your king!”

 

Loki’s eyes snap back up to Thor’s face. “I… I was visiting my horse.”

 

“ _Your_ horse?” Thor asks, brows furrowed and disbelief coloring his tone. His gaze slides over to Svadilfari before quickly returning to Loki's face.

 

“My uncle, Angrboda, works in the palace as a healer,” Loki hurriedly explains. “But unlike most servants, he lives outside the city, so he has been permitted to keep our horse here while he’s working.”

 

Thor’s eyes scrutinize him. “I see. And you, what… missed your horse?”

 

Loki nods.

 

“But you were ordered not to leave the harem.”

 

Loki nods again, this time more hesitantly.

 

Thor’s eyes flick down to Loki’s wrists. “How did you manage to escape with those still on, little sorcerer?”

 

Forgetting his place again, Loki scoffs. “I don’t need sorcery to do something so simple.”

 

Thor blinks at him, but if he is insulted by Loki’s outspokenness, he does not show it. “I see. Well –“

 

“I won’t do it again, I swear,” Loki interrupts, trying his best to look contrite.

 

Thor purses his lips and looks at him for a long time, and Loki swallows nervously. “You should be punished for disobeying orders.” Loki’s eyes widen, but he dares not breathe while Thor’s eyes roam up and down his body. “But…” As Loki looks up at him hopefully, a lecherous smirk spreads across Thor’s face, and the king leans in even closer until there are only a few inches of space between them. “I suppose that can wait until we get to know one another more… intimately. I wouldn’t trust Balder and Skadi to discipline you properly.”

 

Loki’s silver tongue abandons him as he gapes at Thor in outrage. He does not know what the king is implying, exactly, but he has a few ideas — and his skin flushes red in embarrassment at the very thought of them.

 

But before he can say or do anything, Thor takes a step back, and suddenly Loki can breathe properly again. “You should leave before I change my mind.”

 

Loki wastes no time in hastily bowing before scrambling away, giving Svadilfari one last look as he pulls up the hood of his cloak. But just as he brushes past Thor he gets a sharp, painful slap to his backside that makes him yelp and instinctively bring his hands back to shield his posterior. Raucous laughter immediately follows this, but Loki does not dare look behind him as he runs out of the stables with tears in his eyes, leaving an amused and grinning king in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY... says the author. It's a far cry from a romantic meeting in the moonlight or something like that, but hopefully no one is too disappointed!
> 
> Poor, poor Loki. Always laughed at by Thor. But don't worry, he'll soon get his revenge. 
> 
> Next chapter we'll get to hear more of Loki's thoughts on what went down in the stables, as well as Thor's perspective. As for what Huginn and Muninn (and therefore Odin) are up to, well... we'll see in time ;]
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also, apparently I have a thing for crying Loki (canon), naked Loki (should be canon), and embarrassed Loki. No shame. No shame at all.~~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took longer than I'd hoped, but it's the longest chapter to date, so that's something, right?
> 
> And now for the ~morning after.

When Loki wakes up the next morning, lying prone on the mattress with his face all but buried into his pillow, he wonders if it was all just a horrible nightmare. It makes sense to Loki — refusing to talk about King Thor, other than a few jokes on his behalf here and there, and repressing all thoughts about eventually having to meet the king (let alone doing other things with him) have taken its toll on Loki; and his subconscious has finally paid him back for it.

 

He has a phobia, he realizes — a phobia of Thor. It is no wonder that he has nightmares about him now. Smiling a little in relief, Loki rubs the sleep out of his eyes and stretches his arms above the headboard before rolling onto his back and sitting up.

 

The pain nearly sends him flying off the bed.

 

Lying awkwardly on his side, eyes wide and blood slowly but surely rushing to his face, Loki starts breathing heavily in his panic. “It can’t be,” he whispers to himself, but there is no other explanation — last night was not a nightmare.

 

The pain is more of a dull ache than it is sharp, but it is still enough to keep Loki from putting weight on his tender rear again; so instead, he gingerly crawls off the bed and walks over to the full-length mirror standing in one corner of his room. With his back to the mirror, he rolls his leggings halfway down his thighs, cringing at the pain he feels as the smooth fabric rubs against his skin, and lifts up his sleep shirt in order to peer at the damage from over his shoulder.

 

He immediately wishes he had not looked.

 

A large bruise in the shape of a handprint is etched onto the soft skin of his buttocks, light purple in color and spanning across the center of both cheeks. Loki gasps at the sight of it, and his already blushing face turns redder than he has ever seen it, though he only glances up at his face for a second before his eyes return to his backside in horror.

 

Thor did that to him, he realizes. King Thor actually found him last night, chastised him for being outside the harem, and swatted his rear as one would a naughty child. Angrboda often calls him a child, but he has also never laid a hand to Loki — no one has, at least not in such an intimate place as this. He would have preferred the king calling the guards on him, or a night in the dungeons, or even Thor’s hammer to the face — anything but this.

 

Loki looks at the bruise for a long time before dropping his shirt and slowly, carefully pulling his leggings back up, wincing as he does. He has never felt so humiliated in all his life.

 

An abrupt knock sounds against his door, startling Loki. “Yes?” he all but squeaks, stepping away from his mirror and running a nervous hand through his hair.

 

“Loki!” Lorelei bounds into the room and jumps on his bed, beaming at him like she does whenever she has news to tell or gossip to spread.

 

“Lorelei,” Loki greets flatly, not bothering to hide his aggravation.

 

“Guess what I just heard?” she exclaims happily, clapping her hands together in excitement.

 

Loki turns away so that she cannot see his face and wills his blush to go down faster. “We’re getting to go home?”

 

“What? Loki… No, of course not!” Lorelei says, as if Loki is the strange one of the two. Ignoring her, Loki leans over his basin and splashes cold water on his face. “I just ran into Balder downstairs, and he told me that we’re finally going to start learning about King Thor himself this morning!”

 

Loki whirls around like a mad man, sending water droplets flying from his hands and face. “What?!”

 

Lorelei grins at him before skipping out of the room, no doubt to inform the others if her yelling “Sigyn!” is any indication.

 

Of course, Loki thinks as he dries his face with a washcloth — perhaps he is finally getting what he deserves. He has pulled malicious pranks on people for years, torturing them for his own amusement; and now someone is doing the same to him. He just never figured that the person sent by the Norns in retribution for his misdeeds would be the current ruler of the nine realms.

 

Loki feels his blush return to his face as he remembers more about the night before, such as how weak and childish he must have looked to the king and the sound of his cruel laughter; how he cried himself to sleep, so mortified by what had occurred in the stables; and the feeling of Thor’s hands grasping his shoulders and just placing him where he wanted him, of being pinned against the wall so effectively as Thor’s giant arms bracketed around him.

 

As he reminisces about Thor’s arms, Loki temporarily forgets about his sore bottom and sits down on his bed, only to cry out and immediately vault back up at the rush of pain.

 

Now, worst of all, he can think of nothing but the feeling of Thor’s large palm against his backside. And if Thor stays true to his threats, last night was merely a taste of what Loki will experience when — if, he corrects — he has his one night with the king.

 

“Hurry up, Loki!” Lorelei calls from the living room.

 

“Just kill me now,” Loki whimpers.

  

* * *

  

Thor walks down the palace corridors with a spring to his step, shoulders squared and posture as immaculate as the bright sparkle in his blue eyes. It is the sinful smirk on his face, though, that has every servant who passes him doing a double take, some slowing down to watch him with gaping mouths while others hurry past and try not to make eye contact. Every noble he passes smiles at him, unsure as to why their king looks so happy yet glad to see that the Thor they know and love has seemingly returned to them. The guards, however, merely exchange worried looks with one another.

 

Thor ignores them all, of course, refusing to tone down his good mood for anyone. He slept wonderfully last night, and woke up feeling more refreshed than he has since the divorce.

 

And to think that it is all because of that boy.

 

Thor laughs aloud, startling the poor maid walking past him, but Thor pays her no attention, mind focused only on his encounter with the strange little sorcerer. He is utterly amusing to Thor, with his wide-eyed, too innocent expressions and appealing blushes, though Thor did not miss the calculation behind those dark irises — green in color, Thor noted, or perhaps blue, for it was hard to tell — nor the sharpness of his tongue, quick and clever despite his pretty words and guilty tone.

 

It was cruel of him, he knows; his plan was just to scare the boy into not leaving the harem again, for his safety more than anything, but Thor cannot deny that he enjoyed every second of making him squirm. Still, the boy is lucky that Thor was the one to find him. Had it been someone else, such as a guard or a late night stable hand sent to check on the animals or merely someone arriving to or leaving from the palace late at night, they might have taken advantage of the pretty, near-defenseless youth. Hopefully Thor’s actions, admittedly inappropriate and mean as they were, will scare the boy into staying inside the harem where he belongs.

 

Just as Thor turns down another corridor on his way to the council room, a familiar figure steps up beside him and joins him in his walk. “Father.”

 

“Thor. Did you sleep well?”

 

“Best I’ve slept in months, actually,” Thor replies, and Odin beams at him.

 

Expecting Odin to invite him to lunch after the meeting or to give him a message from his mother, Thor is surprised when his father keeps walking beside him without a word. Looking at Odin with his brows raised, he asks, “Are you attending the meeting today?”

 

“Retirement is boring me,” Odin answers nonchalantly. Thor feels his usual guilt for needing so much help from his parents, but then Odin gently adds, “It’s the truth, son,” and Thor believes him and smiles at him gratefully. “Besides, your mother and I will be off to visit Freyr in Alfheim soon, so we want to help you with as much as we can before we leave.”

 

Normally Thor would be anxious at the thought of his parents leaving Asgard completely in his hands for one week, but his sudden surge of confidence has him surprisingly at ease with the idea. “Thank you, father,” he says sincerely, and Odin pats him on the back.

 

When they arrive to the council room, they find Hoenir leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed and eyes gazing at nothing in particular. As soon as he spots Thor, however, his eyes zero in on him; Thor groans internally.

 

“Thor,” Hoenir says, polite yet clipped, before turning to smile at Odin. “Good morning, Odin.”

 

“Hoenir, my friend.” They clasp each other’s arms, and Thor squashes down the annoyance he feels at Hoenir greeting his father so warmly and not him, let alone his never referring to Thor by his proper title when he has never been given permission to do so. If it were anyone else, Thor would consider having his head for all the disrespect he shows him, but as it stands, Hoenir is Odin’s closest friend and therefore untouchable unless he actually commits a serious crime. And since Odin has always allowed Hoenir to refer to him by his first name, Thor reluctantly does the same.

 

As if he is reading Thor’s thoughts, Hoenir looks at him with a barely concealed smirk. “And how did you fare last night in your sleep, Thor?”

 

Thor frowns. “Very well, if you must know.”

 

Hoenir hums, and he and Odin exchange amused looks.

 

Refusing to play their game, whatever it may be this time, Thor angrily shoulders past them and heads inside the room. Tyr is already inside, as are most of the other council members. Upon spotting Thor, Tyr lights up and immediately makes his way over to him. “Your majesty, how –“

 

“I slept fine,” Thor snaps.

 

Tyr raises an eyebrow. “…I was going to ask how you’d like today’s proceedings to go. I have drawn up a –“

 

“Just state your case again, Tyr, and then we’ll let any other who wishes to speak have their say before a decision is made.”

 

Odin and Hoenir choose that moment to walk in, and Tyr smiles thinly. “Very well, then.”

 

Thor nods at him in thanks and sits down in his chair at the head of the table. Mere seconds later, everyone has seated themselves as well, with Tyr to Thor’s right and Odin to his left. Beside Odin is Hoenir, and while Thor does not miss the usual look of contempt he and Tyr give one another, he does choose to ignore it, like always.

 

Forseti, the head councilman and the oldest one of them all, is the last person to walk in. Taking one look at Odin, he snaps his fingers and has a servant just outside the room bring in one more chair, which he has placed at the foot of the table. “I see that our king has twelve council members now,” he quips, before gripping the arms of his new chair and sitting down.

 

“You do not mind, do you, Forseti?” Odin asks, though everyone knows that it would not matter if he did.

 

“Of course not,” Forseti says with a chuckle, and Thor cannot help but sigh inwardly. Except for Tyr, there is not one Asgardian over five centuries old that prefers him to his father.

 

As soon as Forseti has called their meeting to order, Thor looks to Tyr and asks plainly, “Why should we aid Svartalfheim?”

 

Tyr stands and begins his speech, and although he tries to carefully listen, Thor’s attention soon wanes, his mind wandering towards the events of last night again. He has a strong feeling that last night was far from the first time the boy has escaped the harem, seeing as how he made it all the way to the stables without detection from the guards. And before Thor made his presence known, the boy seemed confident, too, as if he seriously doubted that he would get caught. Thor smirks; the boy will surely think twice before trying anything like that again.

 

However, Thor wonders if a chat with Heimdall might be in order. Or Odin, he thinks as he glances at his father out of the corner of his eye, remembering how it was Huginn and Muninn who alerted him to the boy’s presence in the first place.

 

He will not tell Balder and Skadi, though — not yet. He does not want the boy to be punished, even though he undoubtedly deserves it.

 

Thor’s smirk slowly turns into a satisfied grin as he recalls his thinly veiled threats of discipline and the boy’s reaction to them. He does not know if the boy even understood exactly what he was implying, but the telltale blush on his cheeks told Thor everything he needed to know. He simply could not resist lightly tapping the boy on the ass for good measure, and the shocked cry and tearful fleeing that followed had Thor laughing harder than he has in months.

 

“King Thor?”

 

Thor blinks and slowly comes to the realization that everyone is looking at him incredulously — except for Odin and Hoenir, who are staring at each other and appear to be holding back laughter. Thor’s grin slowly fades. “I… yes?”

 

“What are your thoughts?” Tyr prods.

 

“…What are my…”

 

“Thoughts on Jotunheim’s involvement?”

 

“Oh. That.” Tyr’s eyes widen, but Thor waves a hand. “This does not concern us, Tyr. As long as Svartalfheim is not a threat to Asgard –“

 

“But an alliance between Svartalfheim and Jotunheim will be!” Tyr exclaims, and a few other council members murmur in agreement.

 

“Tyr,” Hoenir drawls, leaning forward in his chair, and Thor cringes because he knows all too well what will happen next, “Thanks to Alflyse’s selfish reign, Svartalfheim is a poor realm. And Jotunheim, despite all the work its rulers have done, continues to be the poorest of the nine realms; and it will most likely continue to be the poorest, as long as we hold their life force within these walls.”

 

“Your point?” Tyr grinds out.

 

“Even if Malekith _does_ succeed in overthrowing Alflyse with the help of Helblindi... what kind of threat do you think the two of them can possibly pose to Asgard?”

 

“Jotunheim is always a threat to Asgard!” Tyr bellows.

 

“How?!” Hoenir cries in disbelief. “Will Byleistr lead his army of starving Jotnar across the Bifrost?” Then, grinning smugly, he adds, “Will their lost prince finally come to save them?”

 

Many of the council members laugh loudly at this, including Thor, and Tyr bristles in indignation. “One should never underestimate those savages, Hoenir, or did you forget how many of your family members were slain during the Great War?”

 

“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” Hoenir growls, amusement gone. “How dare you think that –“

 

“Enough, both of you,” Thor commands sharply, rising to his feet. “We will never reach a decision as long as you two are still talking.” Both men shoot him angry looks, but Thor ignores them. “Tyr is right — the Jotnar are cunning, vicious creatures, and we would be fools to not consider them a potential threat; if anything, their hunger makes them even more dangerous. But I also agree with Hoenir — they are not a _current_ threat to Asgard at this point in time.” Thor pauses and takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He looks down at Odin, only to find his father staring up at him impassively. Recognizing this as the sign of approval it is, Thor calms and continues, “Besides, Queen Alflyse is no great ally of ours, and she has not even requested our help. If she does contact us, we will consider whatever she asks, but until then, this discussion is over.”

 

Tyr starts, “But your majesty –“

 

“My decision is final.”

 

It takes a moment, but eventually Tyr smiles and bows his head in deference. “We trust in your wise judgment, my king.”

 

Hoping to smooth things over, Thor squeezes Tyr’s shoulder and smiles back at him. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Tyr. You will keep us updated, yes?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Thor retracts his hand and looks at the other council members sternly. “Does anyone else have anything they wish to add?”

 

When no one answers, Forseti proclaims the meeting to be over. Tyr is one of the first to slip out — “Off to lick his wounds,” Hoenir whispers to Thor and Odin — and eventually Forseti and the others shuffle out of the room as well until only Thor, Odin, and Hoenir are left.

 

“Good job, son,” Odin says, finally letting his approval openly show, and Thor grins.

 

“Did you grow a backbone last night as well?” Hoenir asks. “I’ve never heard you shoot Tyr down like that before.”

 

Thor does not even spare a glance at Hoenir. “Thank you, father. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” And with that, he turns on his heel to leave.

 

“Won’t you join us for breakfast?” Odin calls after him.

 

Thor laughs. “There’s no time!”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Thor halts in the doorway and looks back at them. “To find Sif and the others. My morning is free, and I wish to go hunting.” Odin and Hoenir eye him peculiarly, but Thor just sends them another boyish grin before departing.

  

* * *

  

For the first time in his life, Loki wishes he were currently bleeding. He has never wanted to bathe in private as badly as he does now.

 

After Lorelei leaves his room, he rushes to the bathhouse before everyone else and hurries through his morning beauty routine before anyone can get a good look at him. He then skips breakfast in order to search the library before their classes start, pulling several of the books on magic off the shelves in order to find what he needs. When he finally comes across a book on natural healing rituals that require no actual magic or medicine, he wrenches it off the shelf and falls to his knees, flipping through the pages desperately.

 

Bruises have always been difficult for Loki to heal without Angrboda's help, even when he had access to his magic. Without it, it is an entirely different story, but Loki knows that he must do something, and fast. He is seen naked far too often for bruises to naturally heal without anyone seeing them; and while he would never mention Thor’s name, even Loki himself could not lie his way out of the humiliating, hand-shaped bruise currently gracing his backside.

 

He is so engrossed in his research that he does not notice the shadow that falls over him until a voice cuts through his thoughts. “Loki?” Looking up, he is surprised to see Amora, of all people, looking at him as if she does not know whether to come closer or back away slowly. Since he is used to such reactions, Loki is not terribly bothered. “What are you doing?”

 

“What are _you_ doing? In a library, that is. In case no one told you, this is where people go to read and to learn.”

 

Amora huffs. “Funny. You’re not the only person in this harem who studies seidr, you know.”

 

Loki sends her a quick, dismissive smile before returning to his reading.

 

Amora, as usual, chooses to ignore the hint. “I actually came to ask you about something,” she says, and Loki looks back up at her. With the fingers of one hand twisting the hem of her tunic while her big eyes blink at him, Amora looks innocent and sweet.

 

Loki narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. “Ask, and I’ll consider answering.”

 

“What were you doing last night?”

 

“Sleeping, if I recall,” Loki replies calmly, but begins panicking on the inside.

 

And sure enough, Amora immediately drops her innocent façade. “That’s strange, because if _I_ recall, I woke up last night to the sound of a chair being knocked over and someone cursing. When I opened my door, I saw a cloaked figure righting said chair before running into _your_ room.” Amora smirks meanly. “It sounded like the figure was crying… but then again, I _had_ just woken up.”

 

“Sounds like you were dreaming. You didn’t have too much spice with dinner again, did you?”

 

All traces of humor suddenly vanish. “What were you doing, Loki?” Amora demands, hands on her hips.

 

“What do you think?” Loki snarls, before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down. “I just needed to escape for a little while.”

 

As Amora looks down on him both literally and figuratively, Loki has to grip the sides of his book in order to keep from throwing it at her face. “Knowing you, last night wasn’t the first time you sneaked out, was it?” When Loki says nothing, she shakes her head at him. “For someone so smart, you can be _such_ an idiot sometimes, I swear.”

 

Loki glares at her. “Are you done?”

 

“No, I’m not. Why were you crying?”

 

“I _wasn’t_ crying,” Loki insists. Amora raises an eyebrow. “All right, maybe I was crying a little.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Loki laughs dryly. “I almost got caught by a guard. It just scared me, that’s all.” Rolling his eyes, he adds bitterly, “But don’t worry, I’ll never do it again; that, I can promise you.”

 

“I’m not worried. In fact,” Amora begins in a singsong voice, and Loki looks at her in exasperation. “What’s to stop me from telling Balder and Skadi about your little nightly adventures?”

 

“…You wouldn’t.”

 

Amora’s smirk widens. “Wouldn’t I? It’s for your own safety, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Loki echoes angrily. Bending down the corner of an opened page, he then closes his book and rises to his feet so he can stare down at Amora for a change. “Before you even start, let me remind you that there’s no use in trying to blackmail me.”

 

Amora gives a fake gasp. “Blackmail?!”

 

“I’m the only person in this harem who isn’t competition to you in any way,” Loki continues lowly. “Why make an enemy out of me? We work much better as allies than enemies, Amora; we both know this to be true. Why ruin a good thing?”

 

“You’re wrong,” Amora says, and Loki frowns. “Glut will never be competition for me.”

 

They both laugh at this, and Amora finally backs down with a smile. “You’re right; I won’t tell. But if you ever become competition –“

 

“Ragnarok will begin, yes. I know.”

 

Amora snickers and begins to head towards the door. “I’ll see you in time for our first class. Lorelei tells me it’s supposed to be about my future husband.”

 

Her mention of Thor brings about his now-usual mortification on the topic, as well as a sharp new anger that Loki has been too embarrassed to feel until now. But he swallows it down before calling after Amora, “You sounded awfully concerned about me a few minutes ago!” Amora stops inside the doorway and glowers at him. “I’m touched, really. Next time I need something to dry my tears on, I'll know whose shoulder I can use.”

 

“In your dreams,” Amora sneers.

 

Once she has left, Loki reopens the book in his hands and flips through the next few pages before finally spotting the healing potion he needs, written clearly and precisely detailed. The instructions are easy enough, and each ingredient listed can be found in either the harem kitchens or the garden.

 

Satisfied, Loki bookmarks the page and goes about gathering what he needs.

  

* * *

  

“You seem to be in a good mood this morning, Thor,” Volstagg comments as they walk towards the stables to retrieve their horses.

 

Thor lets out a somewhat terrifying laugh before slinging heavy arms over Volstagg and Fandral’s shoulders. “I am, my friends, I am!”

 

Sif and Hogun exchange frightened looks before carefully inching away from Thor’s reach.

 

“Honestly, what’s not to like about this fine morning?” Thor continues, releasing his tense friends so he can spread his arms out even further. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing…”

 

“The council meeting went well, then?” Volstagg ventures.

 

“It sure did, my friend. And now I can finally go hunting with all of you again!”

 

Fandral grins. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, Thor, but I have to say that I’m enjoying it.”

 

Thor sighs happily. “So am I. I finally feel like myself again.”

 

Sif smiles along with the others but squints at Thor when he is not looking at her. Something about him is different, to be sure, but she cannot put her finger on it.

 

It hits her when they are about to pass the harem.

 

“Thor! You slept with someone last night, didn’t you?” she hisses quietly, thinking of Frigga and how she is going to murder her son if she finds out he is breaking his vow of celibacy.

 

“No, he didn’t,” Fandral says, and then grabs Thor’s arm in excitement. “Did you?”

 

Thor chuckles. “I did not, actually.”

 

Sif frowns. “Then what –“

 

“Look who it is,” Hogun interrupts her, and they all stop and look to where he is pointing. A boy is kneeling in the harem garden, and Sif quickly recognizes him as the same youth they caught dancing a few months ago. He does not seem to notice them, however, as he is too busy inspecting one of the shorter bushes growing from the dark, rich soil.

 

Fandral takes in a deep breath, most likely in order to whistle or yell something obscene, but Thor slaps a hand over his mouth with a speed that startles even Sif, despite her having fought alongside Thor for centuries. She and the others exchange confused looks with one another before looking back and forth between the unsuspecting youth and their king, who is watching the boy intently.

 

The boy has changed since Sif has last seen him, with his longer hair and impeccably groomed appearance, though it could just be his serious, if frantic, demeanor that is throwing her off since he was spinning around in circles the last time she saw him.

 

Apparently satisfied with his find, the boy plucks a few leaves off the plant and rises from the ground, brushing the dirt off his knees as he does so. He then bends down and picks up an opened book that Sif had not noticed lying in the grass. Looking closer, there appears to be a pile of dark blue flower petals on one of the pages, and she watches with furrowed brows as the boy sets his leaves next to the petals and smiles.

 

“What is he doing?” Thor murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, Sif notes. Strangely enough, it is Thor’s soft voice that causes the boy to finally look up at them and freeze in place.

 

The next several seconds are some of the strangest of Sif’s life so far as she and the others continue to look back and forth between Thor and the boy, who only have eyes for each other. The boy does not even appear to be breathing.

 

But then a slow, lascivious grin spreads across Thor’s face, and the boy’s eyes widen even more. In response, Thor winks at him.

 

Sif expected the boy to be embarrassed, as he most certainly appears to be, but she definitely did not expect for him to also glare daggers at Thor as if he were anyone but the king of Asgard. She should be insulted on Thor’s behalf, really, and normally she would be; but she is actually pretty impressed at the audacity of the youth, and neither does she blame him for it. And since it does not stop Thor from bursting into laughter mere moments later, he must not be too offended, either.

 

The boy, however, clearly is offended, and Thor’s laughter is not helping matters at all. Instead of smiling and bowing to them like last time, he snaps his book shut, petals and leaves enclosed within, and angrily stalks back inside the harem.

 

“What just happened?” Sif asks after a moment, and they all look at Thor expectantly, eyebrows raised.

 

Instead of answering, Thor continues to stare at the doors the youth disappeared through, eyes shining in mirth and curiosity.  “What a strange little creature,” he hums thoughtfully.

 

“He’s not the only one,” Fandral mutters.

 

Thor then snaps out of his daze and smiles at them. “We should hurry, my friends. Daylight is wasting!”

 

They warily follow Thor as he continues on the path towards the stables, his head held even higher than it was before. Sif occasionally glances back at the harem, but she is still unable to make sense of anything that just happened.

 

“But what _was_ he doing?” Fandral eventually asks.

 

“I recognized his book,” Hogun says. “It is a manual on natural healing methods.” Thor looks at him expectantly, prompting him to continue, “I know little about healing, but I do know that the leaves he gathered are often used in cooling salves. And the petals heal bruises, I think.”

 

Thor pauses before bursting into laughter again, and then Volstagg asks the most important question thus far: “What did we miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, Thor is still a dick, and poor Loki. But at least some very important information and foreshadowing is starting to slowly but surely come to light ;]


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, posting an update while the sun is still up? It can't be!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

“And so the young Prince Thor and the Warriors Three escaped from Niffleheim with nary a weapon but Mjolnir –“

 

As the girls listen to Balder speak with rapt attention, only interrupting with awes and gasps at the appropriate moments, Loki sits cross-legged with a frown on his face, one hand idly playing with the grass in front of him.

 

Even if all the tales of King Thor and his adventures are true — and he doubts it — Loki is not so easily impressed. The king and his friends traveling to other realms, be it to steal some powerful weapon or just to cause trouble and have fun, is nothing to be in awe of, in Loki’s opinion.

 

And perhaps that makes him a hypocrite, but at least Loki is a prince in disguise, and not a public representative of his own realm. And more importantly, Loki has style, flair, and charisma; whereas King Thor just sounds like a lumbering oaf with a superiority complex and a hammer.

 

Hearing a small sigh, Loki glances beside him at Sigyn, who appears to be almost bored to tears. Glad to see that he is not the only one annoyed, he gently elbows her to get her attention. When she looks at him, he gestures over at Balder before rolling his eyes dramatically. Sigyn nods in silent agreement.

 

Taking advantage of the two of them sitting behind the others in the garden, Loki mimes swinging a hammer around blindly and pretends to roar, and Sigyn has to stifle her giggles with her hand.

 

Just as Loki is about to whisper that the king must be far from well-endowed if his hammer is any indication, a hand suddenly smacks the back of his head. Rubbing his scalp, Loki glares at Skadi as she sits down beside him, but Skadi refuses to meet his gaze, eyes focused only on Balder.

 

When Balder is finished speaking, everyone stands and slowly begins to head back inside the harem. Loki almost makes it to the doors when Balder stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “A moment, Loki?”

 

Sigyn looks back at him questioningly, but Loki nods at her to go ahead.

 

Unfortunately, Skadi hangs back as well. “What?” Loki asks with a sigh.

 

“Loki,” Balder begins carefully as he retracts his hand, “Recently you’ve been acting very –“

 

“Childish,” Skadi interrupts.

 

“I was actually going to say moody, standoffish.”

 

“Worse than usual, even.”

 

Loki’s eyes dart back and forth between them in mock-surprise. “What have I done?”

 

“Let’s see,” Skadi drawls, and Loki holds back a groan, bracing himself. “You’ve been pouting more than usual, sulking more than usual, your immature little antics during our lectures have been both disruptive to your peers and disrespectful to us, and that malicious prank you pulled on Glut –“

 

“The dye washed out!” Loki protests with a scoff. “And besides, one can only improve upon Glut’s appearance.”

 

“We’re worried about you,” Balder says, ignoring Loki’s last comment. “I can see that you’ve been getting a lot more rest lately, but –“

 

This time Loki does groan, cutting Balder off. “I’m fine.” Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he explains, “I’m just a bit stir-crazy, I suppose.”

 

He purposely leaves out other accurate descriptors, such as ‘angry’ and ‘bitter’ and ‘humiliated.’ If King Thor has not told anyone about that night, then Loki sure as Hel is not going to, either.

 

Balder gives him a soft smile. “It’s all right to be scared.”

 

Loki furrows his brows. “Scared?”

 

“After all, it’s only natural.”

 

“Scared of what?”

 

“King Thor.”

 

It takes Loki a moment longer than usual to find his words. “I’m not scared of King Thor.”

 

Balder’s smile turns pitying. “You can be honest with us, Loki.”

 

“I’m not!”

 

“You weren’t acting like this until the day we started our lectures on the king. Why is that?” Skadi questions.

 

Loki shrugs. “He bores me.”

 

“And you’ve always refused to talk about him, save a few jests on his behalf,” Balder points out. “Lately I’ve even seen you leave the room when his name comes up in conversation. It’s a little…”

 

“Strange,” Skadi supplies.

 

“Worrisome.”

 

Loki’s gaze hardens. “I don’t particularly care for him,” he replies in a clipped tone. “What, is that a crime now? Am I to be thrown in the dungeons for simply having an opinion?”

 

“Maybe,” Skadi says.

 

“Of course not.” Balder squeezes his shoulder again. “But I want you to know that you can talk to us about this if you need to. We can help you through this fear and –“

 

“There is no _fear_ ,” Loki insists, wrenching away from Balder and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

 

“Loki…” Balder hesitates for a moment. “It would be wise to let us council you before, well…”

 

“Before what?” Loki snaps.

 

“Before the remaining eight months are up,” Skadi answers, “and before we start teaching you about sex.” Condescension drips from her tone as she adds, “It’s obvious that you’re afraid of that, too.”

 

“I am not afraid of sex!” Loki cries, a little hysterically. “And I am _not_ afraid of King Thor.” He starts to back away from them slowly. “And I definitely do not want to think about sex and King Thor together,” he adds, giving an exaggerated shudder for effect.

 

“And therein lies the problem,” Skadi mutters.

 

Loki turns his back to them. “Just leave me alone.”

 

He hears Balder take a step forward. “Loki, please…“

 

In response, Loki takes two steps forward and scowls at him over his shoulder. “No!”

 

“Let us leave him, Balder,” Skadi says quietly. “He will come to us in time.”

 

“I will not,” Loki mutters, looking away again, and receives no reply save for the sound of their retreating footsteps.

 

He is well aware of how petulant he just acted, thus proving Skadi’s point; but as of right now, he is too upset to care.

 

Saying he does not care for the king was a lie; no, he actually despises him. After all, it was the king’s idiotic actions that forced Loki into the harem in the first place, and even now he is clearly too busy laughing at Loki to run his damn kingdom properly. And Loki will never forgive the king for ruining his chances of ever seeing Svadilfari again during the remainder of his prison sentence. Perhaps worst of all, though, is when he assaulted Loki in the stables and left a hideous bruise that Loki had to figure out a way to heal without his magic — magic that the king took from him, along with his freedom and dignity.

 

No, he absolutely hates King Thor.

 

The feeling of being watched suddenly interrupts Loki’s mental tirade, and he quickly spins around, ready to confront whomever it is and yell at them to go away. However, it is not a person watching him, but a raven, perched on the garden wall with its eyes trained on Loki. “Hello,” Loki calls out wearily, recognizing its large, powerful body and too-intelligent eyes. There is no doubt in his mind that it is the same raven he met in front of the stables that night.

 

The raven continues to stare at him, but when Loki takes a few tentative steps towards it, the bird lets out a loud croak before spreading its long wings and taking off into the air. Loki watches it fly off into the distance until he can no longer see it, wondering where it is headed to and somehow feeling lonelier than he has in months.

 

* * *

  

Thor smiles contently as he rides towards the Bifrost behind his parents, wanting to see them off on their half diplomatic visit, half vacation to Alfheim without any guards or advisors or servants around.

 

Ever since Thor shut Tyr down about Svartalfheim, he has been feeling more and more confident about his parents leaving him for a short amount of time. It does not hurt that others seem less anxious about it, too, with many council members giving Thor looks that are much more appraising than usual. A few have even complimented him behind Tyr’s back, something Hoenir has found most amusing. And as for Hoenir himself, it has been days since his last disparaging remark towards Thor, which Thor counts as another success.

 

All of this along with the kingdom running smoothly, having more time to spend with his friends, and the knowledge that there is a harem full of beautiful youth being groomed just for him has Thor feeling better than he has in months — possibly even years.

 

Once they reach the end of the bridge, Thor gracefully dismounts his horse and immediately goes to give his mother a hand. Though Frigga certainly does not need assistance, she chooses to give Thor a grateful smile and allows his help regardless.

 

“I’m fine, but thank you,” Odin jokes while swinging his leg over the saddle, and Thor chuckles.

 

“Shall I hold your hand as we walk the rest of the way?”

 

“Hush,” Odin grumbles good-naturedly, and Thor grins at him.

 

With a hand on each of their backs, Thor ushers them inside the dome where Heimdall is waiting for them.

 

“Your majesties,” Heimdall says, and Odin and Frigga greet him with a smile. “How long before you call me to bring you home?”

 

“At least one week,” Frigga answers, “possibly two. I’m hoping to drag Freyja away from her brother and bring her back with me. It’s been too long since she’s visited our realm.”

 

“I wish you luck with that,” Thor tells her, and he means it. He has always liked Freyja, ever since he was a boy and Freyja was nothing more to him than his mother’s stunningly beautiful friend that occasionally came to visit. As an adult, he considers himself blessed by the Norns to count Freyja as a friend of his, too, appreciating how honest and straight-forward she is as opposed to the many two-faced, sycophantic nobles Thor has the displeasure of dealing with on a daily basis.

 

Frigga kisses Thor’s cheek before wrapping him in an embrace, and just like that Thor’s confidence starts to waver. He resists the urge to cling to her like he did when he was a small child, begging her to keep reading him bedtime stories so that he would not have to fall asleep just yet. As soon as she draws away, Odin steps in to take her place, and while Thor surpassed his father in height and mass centuries ago, he still feels so safe in his hold, much like he did when he had nightmares of Frost Giants as a boy and could only find comfort in his father’s arms and the knowledge that he would protect Thor.

 

He does not want them to leave.

 

But when Odin pulls away, he makes sure to look at them warmly and without any fear. They deserve a break from Asgard and from Thor’s problems, and for once in his life, Thor thinks, he will not be selfish. “Be safe,” he tells them instead, “and give Freyr my regards.”

 

“We will,” Frigga says.

 

“If you need us, do not hesitate to bring us back,” Odin insists, looking at Thor and then Heimdall.

 

Thor just nods and continues to smile at his parents as Heimdall activates the Bifrost. Once they are gone, he turns to Heimdall and regards him seriously. “Watch over them.”

 

“Always, my king.”

 

Thor starts to walk out of the dome but then pauses as the boy from the harem suddenly crosses his mind. His parents still refuse to give him any real answers on the subject, which leaves Heimdall as his only option. “Before I go, I have another favor to ask of you.” Heimdall says nothing, gazing at him expectantly while Thor carefully chooses his next words. “There’s this boy — one of the youth staying in the harem — that I want you to keep an eye on.”

 

“I know exactly to whom you are referring,” Heimdall replies, and one corner of his mouth turns up in amusement.

 

Thor chuckles. “I figured. I caught him outside the harem grounds one night a few weeks ago, and I suspect that wasn’t the first time he’s done this.”

 

“You would be correct.”

 

“What have you seen?”

 

“He runs in the field beside the harem, mostly. Lies in the grass and looks up at the stars.” Heimdall’s mouth curves again. “Sometimes he dances.”

 

“Yes, he does that,” Thor says, laughing as he climbs onto his horse. “You don’t have to spend a lot of time watching him or anything, but do occasionally check up on him. If he escapes again, inform only me. Do not consult the guards unless it’s an emergency and I cannot get to him in time.”

 

“As you wish, my king.”

 

Satisfied, Thor nods and departs, completely unaware of the bright new smile on his face that he wears the entire journey back to the palace.

 

* * *

  

“Afraid of King Thor,” Loki mutters angrily as he paces back and forth, his bare feet already leaving a flattened trail in the soft carpet of the suite. “Who do they think they are?”

 

His suitemates sit on various pieces of the living room furniture, all barely paying attention to him at this point and not bothering to pretend otherwise.

 

“And then!” Loki cries, stopping abruptly near the chair currently claimed by Sigyn, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin. “And then Skadi has the _nerve_ to claim that I’m afraid of sex, too!”

 

“You are,” Lorelei says mid-yawn.

 

Loki resumes his pacing. “Yes, but I –“ He halts and looks at Lorelei incredulously. “I beg your pardon?” The girls just stare at him blankly. “I am _not_ afraid of sex!”

 

Amora and Lorelei look at each other before bursting into laughter. Outraged, Loki looks to Sigyn, expecting her to defend him, and is aghast to find her holding back a smile of her own. “I hate all of you,” he says lowly.

 

Before anyone can reply, a gentle knock is heard, and Loki stalks over to the door and wrenches it open. Upon seeing Balder’s beaming face, he resists the urge to slam the door shut and reluctantly steps back so Balder can enter.

 

“Hello, girls, Loki.”

 

“Hello, Balder,” the three girls say together. Loki crosses his arms and remains stubbornly silent.

 

“Girls, Skadi is in the sitting room downstairs. Why don’t you go spend some time with her while I have a chat with Loki?”

 

The girls look to Loki and then at each other before doing as Balder says, wisely not saying anything on their way out.

 

It is only once they have left and Balder has kicked the door shut behind them that Loki looks down and notices the two china cups in Balder’s hands, as well as a couple of books tucked under one arm — obvious peace offerings. Loki hates that Balder knows him so well. “May I sit down?”

 

Loki shrugs and goes to sit on the sofa, and Balder deposits the books and one of the drinks down on the small table in front of them before seating himself beside Loki. He tries to hand Loki the other cup, but Loki keeps his arms wrapped around himself, silently refusing to take it as he stares at the fireplace across from them. “Are you sure?” Balder asks.

 

Loki nods.

 

“I brought it just for you.”

 

Loki gives a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not in the mood for tea, thank you.”

 

“Good thing it’s not tea.”

 

Loki regards him coldly, which just makes Balder’s smile grow.

 

“Fine,” Loki finally snaps. But when he tries to take the cup, Balder pulls it back out of his reach.

 

“Careful, you don’t want to spill it. It’s hot.”

 

“What is it?” Loki asks, eyeing the cup wearily as Balder finally hands it to him. The liquid is dark, and even before Loki leans down to sniff at it, he can already smell the sweetness of it. “It smells like… chocolate?”

 

“Just drink.”

 

Though excited, Loki decides to glare at Balder as he brings the rim of the cup to his lips; but as soon as the warm liquid hits the back of his throat, his glare accidentally transforms into a look of pure wonder.

 

“Good?” Balder asks knowingly.

 

Loki swallows and nods before taking a much larger sip than before, quickly followed by another, and then another.

 

“Slow down,” Balder advises. “You don’t want to get sick.”

 

Loki clears his throat and cradles the cup in his hands. “What is it called?”

 

“Hot chocolate, I suppose.”

 

“Not very creative.”

 

“Does it need to be?” Balder points out, and Loki purses his lips thoughtfully. “Now, about this morning –“

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“No, it’s not.” Balder pauses to take a sip of his own drink before setting it back down on the table. “Loki, we didn’t mean to upset you, truly. We’re just concerned about you.”

 

Loki waves a hand. “Yes, yes. I believe that  _you_ are concerned about me, but Skadi? Please.”

 

Balder smiles. “I’m about to let you in on a little secret about Skadi that may surprise you.”

 

“She has no soul?”

 

“No.”

 

“She consumes small children on a regular basis.”

 

“…No.”

 

Despite himself, Loki’s curiosity is piqued. “What, then?”

 

“Skadi _adores_ King Thor.”

 

Loki’s lip curls in disgust. “You’re joking. You must be, because who in their right mind would adore _him_?”

 

“It’s the truth. I don’t think the king himself even realizes how much love and respect Skadi has for him.”

 

“Then why doesn’t _she_ marry him?” Loki asks before taking another sip of his drink.

 

“Her love for him is not romantic,” Balder explains patiently. “It is the love a loyal subject has for their king.” Loki continues to look unimpressed. “Did you know that she actually volunteered to train all of you?”

 

Loki raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

 

“Well, she was approached by Queen Frigga just like I was, but I’ve been told that Skadi accepted the position before the queen could even finish explaining what all it entailed.”

 

“Of course she did. Skadi is sadistic and loves torturing others,” Loki reasons. His eyes widen. “No wonder she adores the king.”

 

“She wants to make sure that the future queen is worthy,” Balder explains slowly, giving Loki a strange look, “of King Thor and of Asgard.”

 

“And you?”

 

“And me, what?”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Balder shrugs and replies, “I was bored and needed something to do,” and Loki immediately knows that there is more to it that Balder is not telling him.

 

“Now,” Balder continues, grabbing the books off the table and placing them in Loki’s lap. “I found a couple of texts that I think you’ll find interesting.”

 

Loki gulps down a bit more of his hot chocolate before setting his now more than half-empty cup on the table. He then skims through a few pages of the first book, eyes dancing across the words eagerly. “Alfheim magic?”

 

“We have already discussed both Aesir and Vanir seidr, as well as the various primitive forms of magic on Midgard; I figured it was time for something a little more... intricate.”

 

Loki gives him a long, hopeful glance out of the corner of his eye. “And Dark Elf magic?”

 

Balder chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, no Svartalfheim texts, nor Muspelheim, for that matter. But like I’ve said, if you become queen, you’ll have access to all the texts on dark magic that you desire.”

 

Loki pretends that he did not hear Balder’s last sentence and opens the second book. It only takes reading a few words on the first page for his heart to nearly stop beating, the small amount of color in his face fading away with each passing second. “Loki, are you all right?” Balder asks.

 

Loki briefly closes his eyes and clears his throat. “I’m just surprised that this would be allowed in the harem library,” he says, and is proud that his voice remains steady. “I had not seen it before.”

 

“It’s not,” Balder admits. “And it wasn’t in the harem library. There aren’t many of these books in Asgard at all, really, and the few that _are_ here are locked away in the palace.”

 

“Then how did you get this?” Loki asks, looking at Balder and trying to stay calm. “And why?”

 

“I have my ways,” Balder says mysteriously. “And I thought you would enjoy reading it. I bet Angrboda knows a little about Jotunheim magic.” When Loki freezes in place again, Balder clarifies, “You said that he studied many different forms of magic during his travels, yes?”

 

“Oh, yes. He did.”

 

Balder frowns in concern. “What’s wrong?”

 

Loki huffs out a laugh and looks at his drink. “I think I just drank too much, too fast,” he lies, clutching at his belly and grimacing for good measure.

 

“Yes, it can do that to you,” Balder says with a kind smile. “If you drink any more, drink it slowly, please. Skadi will have words with both of us if I get you sick.”

 

Loki jumps at the opportunity for a subject change and asks, “So, if Skadi wants someone _worthy_ of Asgard and her precious king, like you said, then why hasn’t she kicked me out yet?”

 

Balder laughs and pats Loki’s knee before standing. “She sees something in you, Loki. We both do.”

 

“What do you see in me?” Loki asks, honestly confused.

 

“Ah, I can’t tell you that just yet. But believe it or not, Skadi is not nearly as mysterious as myself. If you want to know what she sees, you should ask her.” Balder grabs his drink and makes his way towards the door. “She’ll probably tell you if asked.”

 

“Balder?” Balder turns, and Loki forces himself to smile. “Thank you for the books.”

 

Balder returns his smile. “You’re welcome. Try to get a good start on your reading so we can begin discussing them tomorrow night.”

 

“I will.”

 

As soon as Balder leaves, Loki allows himself to breathe in much-needed mouthfuls of air as he stares at the book in his lap in horror. He continues to sit there for a few minutes, frozen in place, until he hears loud footsteps headed his way. Grabbing his things, he rushes into his bedroom before the girls can come back in and see how shaken up he is.

 

Balder cannot suspect, he thinks to himself as he walks about his dark bedroom. As soon as he realizes that he is pacing again, he forces himself to stop and sits down on his bed. Then again, maybe he does, he mentally argues — but no. Balder would have done something by now, surely; would have thrown Loki in the dungeons or taken him to King Thor if he really suspected him of something that serious.

 

Loki gulps down the rest of his hot chocolate and sighs.

 

He is safe. He must be. It was just the unexpected mention of Jotunheim combined with Balder’s eyes boring into his that startled him, made him start thinking irrationally. But he is fine. Everything is fine.

 

He has no reason to be scared — not of Balder, who brings him chocolate and discusses magic with him. He is safe with Balder.

 

With that thought, Loki undresses and pulls on his sleep attire before crawling into bed. As he lies there, curled onto his side and gazing out the window, he thinks about how he should handle this.

 

In the end, he decides on a simple enough plan: he will read what Balder has given him, and he will discuss it with Balder like any other person would. He will not speak from personal experience, of course, but he will not dumb down his knowledge and understanding of the subject, either. Balder is well aware of Loki’s aptitude for magic and learning, and he will have no reason to suspect Loki of anything as long as he acts normal.

 

Though he convinces himself that all will be well, it takes a long time for Loki to find sleep that night.

 

* * *

  

Five days after Odin and Frigga have left Asgard, Thor abruptly awakens in the middle of the night. Confused as to what woke him, he sits up in his bed and looks over at Mjolnir, resting just a few feet away and humming angrily. Thor tenses as a strange feeling settles into his gut.

 

Something is not right.

 

Deciding that an investigation is in order, Thor climbs out of bed and immediately begins to get dressed. He is just pulling on a shirt when one of Heimdall’s new messengers bursts into his chambers without knocking. “My king, I am sorry to disturb you –“

 

“What has happened?” Thor demands of the nervous young man.

 

“It is the weapons vault, your majesty. They broke into it, they killed the guards inside and –“

 

“Who?” Thor barks, calling Mjolnir to his hand. He ignores the messenger’s sharp intake of breath and asks again, “Who broke in?”

 

The poor man looks on the verge of fainting, and somehow the answer dawns on Thor before the messenger can reply.

 

“Frost Giants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to pinch Loki's cheeks and coo at him in this chapter. Sweet baby.
> 
> As for the next chapter... shit is about to get real, guys.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. I need to stop telling people when I think I'll post the next chapter, because it always turns out to be later.
> 
> But now for a long, very important chapter!

Thor, Tyr, and Hoenir stand alone in the weapons vault, staring down at the ugly remains of two Frost Giants killed by the Destroyer’s flames.

 

The dead bodies of four guards lie scattered in various places throughout the vault as well, one encased in ice while two others lie with dripping ice blades sticking out of their chests. The last guard looks by far the worst, having gotten caught in the Destroyer’s incinerating gaze and burned along with the Frost Giants.

 

But most troubling of all, however, is the strange mixture of substances staining the floor in the middle of the room, ice and blood and ashes all inside a large, crude circle made of black scorch marks. Despite having little knowledge of seidr, Thor knows it to be the remnants of a dark spell, of the black magic that his parents have always warned him about.

 

And now he knows why; the look of it, the smell — Thor can only describe it as evil. It makes him uneasy to even be in the same room with it.

 

“Where is the messenger now, Thor?” Hoenir asks.

 

“I sent him to the Bifrost. He is to report back to me if Heimdall has any news for us, or if he spots more of them.”

 

“You don’t think there are more Frost Giants in Asgard, do you?” Tyr asks.

 

“Where would they go besides this room? We all know what they came for,” Hoenir interjects, and they all turn their attention to a particular weapon safely resting in its place at the far end of the room, the vigilant Destroyer hidden behind it once more.

 

“Who else knows about this, Thor?” Tyr asks.

 

“Only Vali, as of right now,” Thor answers, referring to the head guard. “I’ve instructed him to keep everyone away from here while we figure this out.”

 

Tyr scoffs. “What’s to figure out? The king of these monsters sent them to steal from us. If anything, we should be planning an attack on Jotunheim right now!”

 

“We need to know how they got in, for one thing,” Hoenir replies haughtily, and Thor rolls his eyes. “Obviously they didn’t use the Bifrost, and Heimdall did not even see them until they appeared in here.”

 

“Clearly some little ergi Jotun witch let them in,” Tyr sneers, gesturing at the spell remnants with his hand. “That is a portal, or at least what is left of one — I am sure of it. And we all know what they say about Jotnar runts and their perverse magic. The witch who sent them is most likely still in Jotunheim, possibly even waiting to send reinforcements at the king’s command.”

 

“Perhaps, but I still don’t see why –“

 

“Enough,” Thor states tiredly, looking severely at his advisors. “Hoenir’s right — we need to know exactly how they got in so we can take the necessary steps to defend ourselves. A little Jotun witch, it may be, but an extremely powerful one to create a portal that works between realms…” He looks towards the circle again, “ _if_ that is what this is. We need to know how he did this so we can figure out a way to prevent it from happening again. Then, if Heimdall confirms Jotunheim’s involvement, we will plan accordingly from there.”

 

“We should consult a sorcerer,” Hoenir suggests.

 

“Who?” Thor cries, finally letting his frustration get the best of him. “My parents are still in Alfheim!”

 

“And there are few in Asgard who know anything about Jotnar magic,” Tyr points out. “Fewer still who can be trusted.”

 

Hoenir is quiet for a moment, and then snaps his fingers. “Angrboda.”

 

“Who?” Thor and Tyr inquire at the same time.

 

“Angrboda. He is a healer here in the palace, and very loyal to Asgard. He’s knowledgeable in many different types of magic, and…” Hoenir trails off.

 

“And what?” Thor presses.

 

Hoenir sighs. “And he’s not working tonight. I was in the healing wing earlier this evening, and he was not there.”

 

“Then we’ll have him brought here!” Thor exclaims, but Hoenir shakes his head.

 

“He lives outside the city. By the time we had him brought in, dawn would be upon us and people would already be asking questions. We do not have time to fetch him.”

 

“Is there no one else?” Thor asks quietly, desperately.

 

Soon after, Hoenir’s face slowly but surely lights up, causing both Thor and Tyr to narrow their eyes suspiciously. “What are you thinking, Hoenir?” Tyr questions warningly.

 

Hoenir smiles. “Loki.”

 

“Loki?” Thor asks.

 

“Who is Loki?” Tyr asks.

 

Hoenir directs his now-sharp smile onto Thor. “Why, he’s one of yours, Thor.”

 

It takes him a moment, and then Thor starts to feel a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach. “…The boy from the harem? His name is Loki?”

 

“Yes. He is Angrboda’s nephew and, as you already know, a sorcerer himself.”

 

“Loki,” Thor says again, but slower, testing the name on his tongue. It is an odd little name, but pleasing; rather fitting for the boy, Thor decides.

 

Hoenir raises an eyebrow at him but continues, “Balder has been taking notes for me on Loki’s knowledge of magic and his supposed skill level, despite his powers being bound. The boy is exceptionally bright, Thor — intelligent and shrewd, much like his uncle.”

 

Of course he is, Thor almost says out loud. He does not know Angrboda, but he could tell that about the boy when they met in the stables that night, could see the cunning behind those wide, pretty eyes.

 

“And he knows a lot about Jotnar magic,” Hoenir finishes.

 

“…Are you _actually_ suggesting that we bring a _boy_ in here — from Thor’s _harem_ , no less — and have him aid us?” Tyr shakes his head in disbelief. “Hoenir, I’m afraid you’re in shock. Why don’t you sit down and –“

 

“Is he really our only option?” Thor asks Hoenir, considering, and Tyr transfers his look of disbelief onto Thor.

 

“Unless we have Heimdall bring Odin and Frigga back immediately –“

 

“No,” Thor interrupts. “As I’ve said, I am not bothering them with this… not now. We can handle the situation without them.”

 

“Then Loki appears to be our only option,” Hoenir concludes, and he already knows that he has won if the smug look on his face is anything to go by.

 

Thor almost wants to refuse him by default, but he knows that Hoenir is right. And, though it is wrong of him to feel this way in such a dire situation, he is kind of excited at the thought of seeing the boy again — of seeing Loki.

 

“How do we know that we can trust him?” Thor asks.

 

Hoenir smirks. “We don’t. Loki is a mean, slippery, temperamental little thing, or so Skadi tells me; but he’s smart. We have his magic, his freedom… his uncle, whom he loves more than anything, within reach… he won’t tell anyone.”

 

Thor is quiet for a long moment, and then, “Do you really think he could help us?”

 

“Yes,” Hoenir answers confidently.

 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Thor’s lips quirk up. “Mean, slippery, and temperamental, you say?”

 

Hoenir shrugs. “Balder thinks he’s sweet.”

 

“Balder would find something positive to say about Surtur himself,” Tyr says with an eye roll, and Thor chuckles.

 

“And what do you think of him, Hoenir?”

 

“I think he has potential,” Hoenir replies simply.

 

“Bring him here, then,” Thor orders, and Hoenir gives a mock bow before turning on his heel and leaving.

 

Once the doors are shut behind him, Tyr gives Thor another long look. “So we’re going to investigate how a little ergi Jotun witch let two of its larger, uglier kin in here… with the help of another little ergi witch?”

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Thor growls, so menacingly that Tyr backs up a few steps.

 

* * *

 

Loki awakens to someone gently shaking his shoulder. “What’s going on?” he rasps, squinting in bewilderment when he sees a shape that looks like Hoenir kneeling by his bed. “Am I dreaming?”

 

“You’re not dreaming,” a voice that definitely belongs to Hoenir says, and as Loki’s eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, he is shocked to find that it is actually Hoenir in his bedroom.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Get up.” Hoenir rises to his feet. “We have need of you.”

 

More alert now, Loki sits up and spots Balder and Skadi standing by the doorway. “What –“

 

“Loki, please. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

 

Concerned yet still bleary-eyed, Loki stumbles out of bed and walks over to his wardrobe. “There’s no time for that,” Hoenir says, tossing Loki his cloak. Loki obediently throws it on but barely has time to slip on his boots before Hoenir is rushing him out the door.

 

“Aren’t they coming?” Loki asks of Balder and Skadi as he and Hoenir head down the stairs by themselves, Hoenir’s grip on his arm un-painful but firm.

 

“No, they’re covering for us.”

 

“ _What_?” Loki mouths silently, but Hoenir deems it unnecessary to answer him.

 

Just before they make their way out the door, Loki looks over his shoulder and sees Balder at the top of the stairs, a sad, strange expression on his usually jubilant face.

 

Loki is suddenly and inexplicably terrified.

 

“Is Angrboda all right?”

 

Hoenir’s hand slides down to grasp Loki’s wrist.

 

“Where you taking me?” Loki tries again, but Hoenir just hushes him and drags him along the pathway outside.

 

The nights are far warmer now as summer approaches Asgard, almost too warm for Loki to be wearing his light cloak, even; but he barely registers the rise in temperature as Hoenir leads him towards the palace.

 

Once inside, Loki quickly finds the palace to be much more intimidating at night than it is during the day, when sunlight pours through the numerous loggias and windows while people mill about everywhere, talking and laughing with one another. By contrast, the large corridors are dimly lit this time of night and echo with his and Hoenir’s quick footsteps, and only guards and the occasional servant passes by them without a word.

 

It is not long before they are further into the palace than Loki has ever been before, with long, wide corridors being replaced with smaller, maze-like hallways. There is much less echoing, too, and now all Loki can hear are the increasingly terrified thoughts running through his mind. His imagination is certainly no help to him as he thinks about the method in which he might be executed and visualizes the many ways he could be interrogated and tortured.

 

He would run if he thought he had any chance of escaping, but with his magic bound and guards stationed all over the palace who would obey Hoenir without question, he knows it is futile. And he would put Angrboda at risk — assuming his uncle has not been taken, too.

 

“Hoenir, please,” Loki cries as they make their way down a flight of stairs, unable to hold back any longer. “Please, tell me where you’re taking me.” Blinking back tears, he prays that it is not to the dungeons.

 

Hoenir finally looks at him again and, noticing his tears, seems to take pity on him. “To the weapons vault.” Though they have not passed another person for quite some time, Hoenir still keeps his voice soft enough that Loki’s ears have to strain to make out his words. “King Thor is waiting for us there.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Loki whispers loudly. “Why?!” But before Hoenir can answer, he stops dead in his tracks, a horrified expression on his face that forces Hoenir to halt as well.

 

“Loki? What’s wrong?”

 

Loki has finally figured out the expression that was on Balder’s face: guilt.

 

He turns and grasps Hoenir’s shirt with both hands. “Loki –“

 

“Please, _please_ don’t do this,” he begs. “I’ll do anything, I swear, just please –“

  

“Loki, stop,” Hoenir speaks over him, and Loki lets out a frightened whimper as Hoenir pulls both of Loki’s wrists away from him. But he only gently takes Loki’s face in his hands and murmurs, “We’re not going to hurt you, I promise. You are safe with me.”

 

Loki closes his eyes. Hoenir is right, he tells himself, nodding. And besides, Balder would not do that to him, would not betray him. He has acted no different in the past few days, listening to Loki explain Jotnar magic, asking all the right questions, and praising him for his knowledge. There was not one word said, not one tell in Balder’s face that revealed any suspicion.

 

“You said you’d explain on the way,” Loki accuses, opening his eyes. “You said –

 

“I know, child.” Hoenir wipes one of Loki’s tears with his thumb. “Please don’t cry. We just need your help, that’s all. King Thor needs your help.”

 

“But… he hates me,” Loki says after a moment, brows furrowed.

 

Hoenir smiles at him, his hands sliding down to grasp Loki’s shoulders. “He does _not_ hate you.”

 

Loki sniffs. “Well, I hate him.”

 

Hoenir leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “Do you want to know a secret?” Loki nods eagerly. “I’m not too fond of him myself.”

 

Despite himself, Loki huffs out a laugh. “Really?”

 

Hoenir nods, grinning. “Now come. We will deal with him together.”

 

Loki allows Hoenir to lead him again — by the hand, this time — and as they walk, Loki subconsciously begins improving his physical appearance with his free hand, rubbing the lingering sleep out of his eyes and combing his fingers through his tangled locks.

 

He does not even realize what he is doing until he notices the amused look Hoenir is giving him out of the corner of his eye, and he promptly drops his hand and blushes. Hoenir mercifully does not comment on any of it.

 

Loki is not sure why he would even care about what he looks like. King Thor has never seen him at his best, anyway, and it is not like he wants to impress the man. If anything, he should be hoping that the king finds him hideous and will want their one night to be exactly that — one night.

 

Loki continues on a similar train of thought until they reach a guarded set of closed doors. Loki expects Hoenir to have the guards open the doors for them, but instead he stops and turns towards Loki again, an apologetic look on his face that makes Loki even more nervous. “Hoenir?”

 

“I’m sorry, Loki, but we can’t have you knowing where the weapons vault is.” He pulls a thick, black strip of fabric out of his pocket, and Loki’s stomach drops. “You understand, of course?”

 

Loki looks at the guards, who seem to only be capable of staring straight ahead, and then at the floor. He hesitantly nods and closes his eyes as Hoenir ties the cloth around his head. When he reopens his eyes, there is nothing but darkness, and his heart rate picks up noticeably.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hoenir repeats just before the doors in front of them are loudly opened. Loki chooses to say nothing, and with an arm around Loki’s waist, Hoenir guides him inside.

 

Loki loses track pretty quickly after that, for they go down several more flights of stairs and turn many, many corners. As he listens to the sound of Hoenir’s tired breathing and their careful footsteps on the stone floors, all Loki can do is hope that Hoenir is telling the truth, that he is not leading him to his death.

 

At some point his breathing must become heavier, for Hoenir whispers, “Relax, child. I promise that everything is going to be all right.” It does little to soothe Loki, but he tries his best to stay calm despite the rising nausea in his stomach.

 

Then they come to another stop, and Loki suddenly feels like his heart is about to pound its way out of his chest. “Be calm,” Hoenir says softly. “We are here.”

 

Loki hears two more doors open for them, much taller and heavier sounding than any other doors that they have passed through, and then Hoenir is leading him down more stairs. As the doors shut behind them, ringing in their finality, Loki sucks in a sharp breath, and Hoenir gently hushes him.

 

The air smells of burning, Loki realizes after a moment; breathing through his mouth, it is as if he can taste the ashes on his tongue. A powerful humming is reverberating throughout the room as well, and after months of living with his magic bound inside of him, Loki is stunned to be able to feel the magic in this room, strong and potent and incredibly ancient.

 

But it is hearing the shuffling of another person, strangely enough, that makes Loki trip on the last step, causing Hoenir to accidentally lose his hold on him.

 

Just as he is surely about to hit the floor, a pair of strong arms catches him, and Loki accidentally lets out a startled cry before he is carefully pulled back up. With one arm still around his back — much too large to be Hoenir’s, Loki knows — a second hand unties the blindfold and pulls it away from his head, and Loki suddenly finds himself staring up into the eyes of the king.

 

“Loki, are you all right?” Hoenir asks from behind him, but as Loki’s eyes adjust to the lighting in the room, the only thought going through his mind is how blue King Thor’s eyes are — far bluer than they appeared in the barely-there lighting of the stables that night.

 

His next observation is how genuinely angry those eyes look, followed by the frightening realization that they are staring straight into his.

 

Thankfully, before Loki can do or say anything, Thor’s eyes snap up and look over Loki’s shoulder at Hoenir.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” the king demands, his free hand waving the blindfold. His other hand remains planted firmly on Loki’s back, long fingers splayed protectively across his spine.

 

“I told you — he is clever,” Hoenir says. The sharp condescension in his tone startles Loki, though he does not look away from Thor’s face as Hoenir continues, “He would have remembered the path here. I only did what was necessary.”

 

“Look at him — he is trembling!” Thor barks, and his eyes return to Loki and soften in concern.

 

Loki looks down at his hands to find that they are indeed shaking, alarmingly so. “Oh,” he says faintly, and clasps them together to keep them still.

 

He then looks back up at Thor, and his lips part at the deep, intense stare Thor is giving him.

 

“I’m sorry, Loki,” Hoenir says, his voice once again sounding kind and gentle like Loki has always heard it. Realizing that Thor’s arm is still around him, Loki quickly pulls away from the king’s hold and nods meekly at Hoenir.

 

“Can we begin now?” a third voice implores, and Loki looks over to see Tyr standing off to the side, arms crossed impatiently.

 

Of everything that has happened, it is the way Tyr is looking at him — annoyed, like Loki is little more than an insect — that truly infuriates Loki.

 

His eyes dart angrily between the three men. “Why am I here?” Their expressions of surprise send him into even more of a rage, and he clinches his fists to keep from foolishly lashing out at them. “What could you possibly want from me?”

 

“Calm down, Loki.”

 

“No!” Loki yells at Hoenir, and he is shaking again, vibrating in his fury as all of the emotions he has felt in the past hour begin to spill forth at once. “Tell me what I’ve done, or I’ll –“

 

“You have done nothing, Loki,” Thor tells him, placing his hand on the nape of Loki’s neck. His warm, heavy touch stills Loki almost instantly. “You are here because we need you.” At Loki’s confused look, he clarifies, “We need a sorcerer.”

 

“Where is King Odin? Queen Frigga?”

 

Thor darkens. “Alfheim.”

 

Loki blinks before looking to Hoenir. "Do you not have other any other capable sorcerers around here?"

  


"We do, but there aren't many in Asgard who are knowledgable in much more than seidr," Hoenir explains patiently.

  


“If you thought to choose me, then surely you know of Angrboda’s talents. Why did you not go to him?”

 

“He is not here, and it would take too much time to bring him here — time that we don’t have.”

 

“But could you not –“

 

“Loki,” Thor interrupts sternly, but his eyes are twinkling in amusement. The thought of the king laughing at Loki — again, and especially now of all times — has him once again pulling away from his touch, causing Thor’s hand to awkwardly drop by his side.

 

Loki sends him a harsh glare before turning to Hoenir and challenging, “Why me?” He does not miss Thor’s perplexed and slightly hurt expression out of the corner of his eye, but he does ignore it. “I still don’t understand. You said that most Aesir sorcerers primarily work with seidr… what makes you think that I am any different?”

 

“Well, from Balder’s reports on your discussions with him, you –“

 

“What?” Loki cries, flinching back. And judging by the look on Hoenir’s face, he knows that he has just said the wrong thing, too.

 

“So all this time,” Loki begins hoarsely, “Balder was… reporting on me, to you?”

 

“Yes,” Hoenir confirms softly.

 

Loki looks away from the three of them and blinks back tears again, feeling hurt and stupid and betrayed. All this time, he thought Balder actually liked talking to him about magic, enjoyed his company. Even when he feared that Balder suspected something and planned to turn him in, he would then quickly berate himself for it, for Balder been nothing but genuinely kind to him — or so he thought.

 

“I… I thought…”

 

He thought Balder was his friend.

 

He trusted Balder.

 

Hoenir gives him a moment, before, “Balder told me that you two have been discussing Jotnar magic.”

 

Loki’s head jerks back to Hoenir. “What does that have to do with this?”

 

“Frost Giants broke in here tonight. We want to know how they did it, and if it can be prevented from happening again”

 

Loki looks at where Thor and Tyr are suddenly and conveniently blocking his view further into the room. “Move,” he says lowly.

 

Tyr bristles. “Listen, you little –“

 

“Move!” Loki shouts, desperately.

 

Tyr recoils a little, but when Thor’s feet remain firmly planted, Loki attempts to dart past him on one side before effectively ducking under his other arm instead.

 

Thor lets out a surprised curse behind him, but it is what Loki sees on the other side of them that has him freezing in place, his mouth open in a silent scream.

 

He had never seen another Jotun before, other than Angrboda a few times when he was younger and they were alone, completely hidden from Heimdall’s gaze. As Loki got older, Angrboda acclimated to his Aesir body more and more until he stopped dropping his glamour all together, and he forbade Loki to shape-shift into his true form as well. But occasionally, and only occasionally while Angrboda was at work and Loki felt like crying, he would shift into his Jotun body in front of a mirror, stare back at his glossy red eyes while the tips of black-nailed fingers traced the lines on his blue skin in a sad, daze-like wonder.

 

And now two of them lie on the floor of the weapons vault, dead and half-charred with gruesome burns. The sight is horrifying for many reasons, but it is the thought that one or both of them could be Loki’s brothers that makes him let out a sob.

 

Thor is immediately at his back, fitting one hand to the slight curve of Loki’s waist to try to coax him into turning away. “Do not worry, Loki,” he tells him, his breath hot on Loki’s neck. “The Destroyer killed them. They cannot hurt you — I swear it.”

 

Loki lets out another sob but ignores the urge to bury his face in his hands, forcing himself to look at the scene before him, at the dead guards and Jotuns and the strange, magic circle in the middle of the room. And then he looks up and goes still again, but it is not out of fear this time.

 

For straight ahead of him is a weapon, but also more than that; it is the heart of his people, the source of Jotunheim’s power: the Casket of Ancient Winters.

 

And it is right in front of Loki.

 

“What do you need me to do?” Loki asks quietly, squaring his shoulders and removing Thor’s hand from his person. He looks back at Hoenir for an answer, wet eyes serious and determined.

 

Hoenir smiles at him before nodding towards the circle. “We think that the Frost Giants came here through that, and we were wondering if you could tell us anything about it.”

 

Loki looks at Hoenir’s confident, encouraging expression and then at Tyr’s annoyed visage, and finally at Thor; and this time it is Thor’s face that angers him the most, looking concerned about Loki, of all people, the same boy he usually prefers to laugh at.

 

Loki bares his teeth at him and delights in the taken aback look on Thor’s face before spinning around and walking towards the circle. But before studying it, he decides to kneel down by what is left of the dead Jotuns first.

 

“What is he doing?” Tyr asks with derision, as if Loki cannot hear him.

 

“Be quiet and let him work,” Hoenir hisses.

 

The two of them bicker quietly in the background, but Loki ignores them in his urgency to examine the two Jotuns.

 

Part of one Jotun’s face is not burned, and Loki nearly bursts into relieved tears when he sees the straight lines on the Jotun’s face and how there are only a few of them. Angrboda, who has few lines himself, once told Loki that more intricate designs run in the royal lineage, which explains the beautiful markings on Loki’s forehead, the delicate incisions in his cheeks, and the swirling patterns that twine across his entire body.

 

The other Jotun’s face is too damaged to properly examine, but with his lower body relatively still intact, Loki can still see what is left of the tattered rags he wore around his hips and the sharp bones protruding through too-thin skin.

 

Loki knows now that these are not his brothers. He is glad of it, and he sends a silent prayer of thanks to his parents, but his heart is broken nonetheless for the two Jotuns. He wonders if he could still be related to them somehow, wonders if they were friends of his brothers, or lovers, or if they knew their rulers personally at all.

 

Forcing himself to stop thinking along those lines, Loki quickly whispers a prayer for each of their souls before moving to crouch before the circle. Tyr and Hoenir have not stopped arguing in the background, so when Loki hears someone else headed his way, he sighs and curses inwardly. And sure enough, Thor is kneeling next to him only a few seconds later.

 

“Do you see anything?” he asks, as if Loki has been here for a while.

 

Loki lightly runs his fingertips over the scorch marks, frowning thoughtfully.

 

“What do you think caused that?”

 

Loki breathes heavily through his nose, and Thor inches closer to him.

 

“Are you –“

 

“Do you need anything, your majesty?” Loki interrupts, glaring at Thor.

 

“I… no,” Thor says after a moment, and Loki rolls his eyes before returning to his work.

 

Without touching the blood, he eyes the melting ice while gathering a small handful of ashes. Bringing his hand up to his face, he breathes in deeply.

 

“What are you doing now?” Thor asks, and Loki carefully drops the ashes back in the circle before rounding on Thor.

 

“Your majesty, please, why don’t you go break up your advisors before they tear each other apart –“

 

“I’m sorry,” Thor says, and Loki draws back as if stung.

 

“You’re sorry?” he asks slowly, cautiously.

 

Thor nods. “I’m sorry that Hoenir scared you like that.” Loki lets out an exaggerated groan and throws up his hands in frustration. “What?” Thor cries, defensively.

 

“Earlier, with the blindfold, and then the Jotnar… and now an _apology_? Why do you suddenly care?” And then it dawns on Loki. “Or do you only like it when _you_ are the one scaring me?”

 

Thor has the audacity to look confused, and Loki purposefully looks at the hammer hanging from Thor's belt in order to keep himself from punching Thor in the face and receiving a death sentence right then and there. “I don't follow –“

 

“That night, in the stables,” Loki says quickly, and gasps in outrage when Thor barks out a laugh.

 

“That is completely different.”

 

“It is not!” Loki protests.

 

“Yes, it is,” Thor says, his eyes shining in mirth. “I’ll admit, it was… insensitive of me to scare you like that, but I did it for your own good.”

 

“My own good?” Loki jumps to his feet, glaring down at Thor. “Really, my own good?!”

 

“Yes, your own good!” Thor also rises, and Loki huffs when he suddenly has to glare up at Thor instead of down. “You were utterly foolish running around at night without any means of protecting yourself!”

 

“Oh, yes, it is _my_ fault that I am unable to protect myself!” Loki cries, holding up his bracelet-covered wrists and waving them around sarcastically until Thor abruptly grabs them and forcibly holds them down at Loki’s sides.

 

“Do you know what could have happened to you had anyone else found you that night?” Thor asks lowly, and Loki gasps when he notices how little space there is between them. Though he is not backed into a wall like he was in the stables, he feels no less trapped by Thor’s commanding presence and imposing physique. “You should thank the Norns that it was _I_ who found you.”

 

“But you –“

 

“And notice that I have not told a single soul about that night. You should have been punished, but you’ve suffered no consequences thanks to me.”

 

Loki swallows. “…You hit me.”

 

Thor tries and fails to hold back a small smile. “I know. I’m sorry.”

 

“You left a handprint!” Loki snaps, and immediately blushes at his slip-up.

 

Thor snorts, clearly trying to hold back more laughter. “A handprint, aye? I knew I must have bruised you when we saw you gathering those plants, but I’d never have guessed –“

 

“You hit me _hard_ ,” Loki snarls, and Thor scoffs.

 

“Hard? I lightly tapped you.” Loki’s eyes widen comically, and Thor cannot help but laugh. “If you think that was me using all my strength, little sorcerer, then –“

 

“Let go of me,” Loki growls, and Thor complies, a smile still on his face.

 

A throat is loudly cleared, and they both look over to see Hoenir and Tyr standing only a few feet away, watching them.

 

“How long have you been standing there?” Thor asks both of them, surprised. It takes Loki a second, and then he all but leaps away from Thor, eyes downcast and rubbing his wrists awkwardly.

 

“Too long,” Tyr drawls.

 

Loki looks up at Hoenir, horrified. “How much did you hear?”

 

“Enough,” Hoenir answers with a wink, and Loki blushes further.

 

He hates Thor, he thinks to himself for what he imagines is the millionth time that day alone. Thor causes nothing but pain and humiliation in his life; even now, surrounded by dead bodies, Thor is looking at Loki and holding back laughter.

 

Loki completely loathes him.

 

“Did you find anything?” Hoenir then asks seriously, putting Loki out of his misery.

 

“Yes. The spell was not cast from Jotunheim. It was cast here, in the weapons vault.”

 

Tyr is the first one of the three to overcome his shock. “What?”

 

“Loki, are you sure?” Hoenir asks.

 

“It is obvious,” Loki says with a shrug, looking down at the circle. “The scorch marks are too deep; had this been a portal opened from another realm, or even outside this room, they would be faded and even discolored, most likely. Plus, the ashes inside the circle are fresh. This was done recently, and in person.” Sarcastically, he adds, “Not to mention the small fact that fire on Jotunheim would not exactly be easy.”

 

Without waiting for a response, Loki continues, “Now, look closely at the dried blood inside the circle.” The others bend down to look as instructed. “Spilled Jotnar blood is a much darker shade of red than this, sometimes almost black-looking.” Loki looks up at them accusingly. “I’m sure all three of you knew that.”

 

They stare back at him with furrowed brows, and Loki sighs and continues, “Finally, the most obvious clue of all: the ice.”

 

“What about it?” Thor asks.

 

“It’s melting.” This time, it is Loki who laughs. “Pure Jotnar ice magic would not simply _melt_ , not this quickly.” He nods over at the guard encased in thick ice that has yet to begin melting. “See? Not a single drop of water.”

 

“What are you saying?” Tyr demands.

 

“I’m saying that an Asgardian did this.” They all gasp, and Loki adds, “Well, it could’ve been a member of another race… but it’d have to be someone with access to this vault in the first place, so I’m going to go ahead and assume it was an Asgardian. I suggest taking a sample of the blood to examine, to be sure. Either way, this is _not_ Jotnar magic, but merely a dark form of Aesir seidr.”

 

“So an Asgardian came in here,” Thor begins, “cast this spell…”

 

“And called two Jotuns into the vault, yes. It would take a lot of power to do that, unless one had access to extremely powerful spells.” Loki frowns at the circle. “The spell used here is powerful, but the spell caster was messy in its execution — almost embarrassingly so. I’d wager that whoever did this is not an actual sorcerer in any sense of the word, but merely someone who has access to texts on dark magic.” He bites his lip. “Very dark.”

 

“…You figured all of this out while we were talking?” Thor asks, eyeing Loki like he has never seen him before.

 

There is no laughter or pity from him now, Loki notes, and he has to hold back a smirk. “It was easy,” he replies honestly.

 

“The Frost Giants,” Tyr says suddenly, and Loki frowns at the slur. “They still acted alongside this… traitor to steal the Casket!”

 

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Loki says.

 

“ _What_?”

 

Loki gestures at the Jotuns. “Look at what’s left of their bodies. Jotnar royal lineage is marked by deeper, more intricate lines — these Jotuns do not have that.”

 

“They don’t have to be royalty to be following Helblindi’s commands,” Hoenir points out, and Tyr nods in agreement.

 

Loki tries not to react visibly at the mention of his eldest brother’s name. “No, and I know that the Jotnar are a poor and starving people — but these two would still be a _little_ more well-fed and better dressed if they served the king, would they not? Especially if they were important enough to be granted a task such as this.”

 

Hoenir frowns thoughtfully. “So… you’re saying that the spell caster just… pulled random Jotuns?”

 

“No, I’m only saying that these two were not sent directly by King Helblindi or Prince Byleistr,” Loki says, and tries not to smile in pride as he speaks of his powerful brothers. He looks to Thor and continues, “In my humble opinion, it is not Jotunheim that you should be concerned with, your majesty, but the traitor within your own realm.”

 

“Loki is right,” Thor decides, and Loki holds back another smirk as Hoenir nods in agreement. Tyr, however, remains oddly silent.

 

“Look for someone with access to this vault — or at least someone who is close to one of the guards of this vault,” Loki instructs. “He or she is not a sorcerer, but they do have access to dark, powerful spells, most likely from texts here in the palace.” He shrugs. “And you have a blood sample, so you should be able to narrow it down soon enough.”

 

“Amazing,” Thor breathes, and this time Loki cannot keep from smirking.

 

“Child’s play, really.”

 

Thor matches Loki’s smirk with one of his own, and they continue to gaze at each other until Hoenir lightly coughs. Loki quickly turns his smirk into a glare and lets Thor feel the heat of it before smiling politely at Hoenir.

 

“Anything else I can do for you?”

 

Hoenir chuckles. “You’ve done more than enough. I should take you back now.”

 

“I will take him,” Thor says.

 

“No,” Loki and Hoenir respond at the same time.

 

“We cannot risk you being seen with him, Thor,” Hoenir explains, “especially at this time of night. People will talk.”

 

“He’s right,” Loki is quick to agree. “Besides, you should really go to Heimdall right now and confirm that everything seems normal in Jotunheim so you can be sure that King Helblindi has nothing to do with this.” At the austere look Thor gives him, Loki bows his head and adds unassumingly, “I mean, you could. If you ask me.”

 

“I still can’t believe this,” Tyr mutters angrily, and he and Hoenir immediately delve back into arguing with each other again. As Thor sighs and steps in to try to break them up — and what an odd sight it is, Loki thinks, to see Thor act as the mature, reasonable one — Loki tiptoes around them and slowly makes his way towards the Casket.

 

The closer he gets to it, the louder the Casket hums, and once he is a few feet away it lets out a high, mournful wail that sends shivers down Loki’s spine.

 

Standing before it, Loki slowly reaches out a hand, marveling at the blue glow it casts upon his skin. Smiling, he imagines that he is in his Jotun form, taking back the Casket for his people.

 

He wonders what would happen if he touched it.

 

But he does not have long to wonder, for a hand snatches his wrist in the blink of an eye, causing Loki to jump as Thor suddenly appears by his side.

 

“Do not touch it!” Thor orders with wide eyes. “If it doesn’t kill you, the Destroyer will!”

 

Loki barely registers his words before looking back at the Casket. “Can you hear it?”

 

“Hear what?”

 

“Its song.”

 

“Its… song,” Thor parrots in bemusement. He does not release Loki’s wrist.

 

“It is singing,” Loki says, so enchanted by the Casket that he momentarily forgets who he is speaking to. “A song of winter.” He smiles sadly. “It’s beautiful.”

 

“Then why do you look sad?” Thor murmurs, never taking his eyes from Loki’s face.

 

“It also sings of death,” Loki explains, and meets Thor’s gaze.

 

Their staring is soon broken by Hoenir’s harsh, mocking laugh. “Now Tyr, I know you wanted it to be your lost Jotun prince, but do not despair! You’ll find him eventually.”

 

As Tyr grumbles something inaudibly, Loki sways on his feet.

 

This time, Thor easily catches him before he can fall. “Hoenir!” he yells, holding Loki to his chest.

 

As Hoenir and Tyr come running over, Loki weakly struggles against Thor’s hold. “I’m fine,” he insists, but Thor merely tightens his arm in response.

 

“Loki, what’s wrong?” Hoenir asks.

 

“You look ill,” Tyr comments.

 

“I…” Loki stares over at the Casket again and swallows. “I’m just…”

 

“He’s exhausted,” Thor proclaims, and Loki does not contest, nodding instead.

 

He looks anywhere but at Tyr.

 

“Thor,” Hoenir quietly prompts, and Loki glances down to see Hoenir holding out his hand expectantly. It is only when he sees Thor’s scowling face that Loki remembers the blindfold. Thor must have stuffed it in one of his pockets, Loki deduces; and he feels something akin to gratitude when Thor just glares at Hoenir instead of handing it over.

 

To his credit, Hoenir merely shrugs, smirking at Thor a little before reaching to take Loki from his arms.

 

But Loki does not know what he will do if one more person touches him, so before Hoenir can grab him, he slips from Thor’s now-loosened hold and turns to leave without a word, forcing Hoenir to follow him for a change.

 

“Loki,” Thor calls out when he and Hoenir reach the top of the stairs.

 

Loki pauses, but does not turn.

 

“Thank you,” Thor says softly.

 

Loki slowly looks over his shoulder at Thor, taking in the king’s features that speak of admiration and worry and countless other emotions that Loki does not understand.

 

Instead of responding, Loki’s eyes move past Thor and rest on the Casket for a few moments. He listens to it cry out for him, and then he forces himself to turn away and depart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been building towards this chapter for what seems like forever, so I'm glad to finally get it out here! If any of you have a guess on where I'm going with all of this, feel free to share in a comment.
> 
> ~Morning after thoughts next chapter!


	15. Chapter 15

Loki and Hoenir did not speak any more that night.

 

It took them longer to make it back to the main palace corridors than it did to begin with, or at least it seemed that way to Loki. He assumed that Hoenir was trying to make up for the lack of blindfold by taking him on a more intricate path, though Loki refused to break his silence in order to question him about it.

 

When they finally did arrive to the harem, Hoenir, Balder, and Skadi all tried to talk to Loki; but instead of offering any kind of reply, Loki just walked past them and into his room, quietly shutting the door in their faces. As soon as he was positive that they had left the suite, he stripped off everything but his small clothes and collapsed in his bed, pulling the covers up around him tightly.

 

Sleep eventually came upon him, but it was not until he dreamt of his skin betraying him in front of Tyr that Loki bounded out of bed and ran into his bathroom, where he spent the rest of the night curled on the floor, vomiting up everything in his stomach.

 

It is now the next morning, well past time for his morning beauty routine and breakfast, and Loki’s stomach has now settled and aches of hunger; yet he remains in his bed, cocooned under the sheets and staring blankly up at his ceiling. A million thoughts are running through his mind, making it hard for him to focus on analyzing any details as he tries to understand everything that happened last night.

 

He does not care about the spell, not really. As for his observations, Loki was completely honest with the king, but of course he cannot know for sure if his brothers actually had anything to do with what happened. He hopes not, for their sake — he would also like to think that his brothers are a bit cleverer than that, since they are related to Loki and all — but convincing the king and his advisors of their probable un-involvement was easy enough, thankfully.

 

The last thing Jotunheim needs is another war with Asgard. It would never recover, and Loki would never get to go home.

 

Second of all, there’s King Thor — but Loki refuses to think about him.

 

Then there is the Casket, of course, and how it was able to call out to Loki despite his bracelets. Ever since his own magic was bound, Loki has not been able to feel outside sources of magic at all, not even when visiting with Angrboda; he wonders if the Casket is tied to his bloodline so strongly that the bracelets are powerless against it, or if the Casket is simply strong enough to reach anyone it wishes to reach.

 

But even more than that, it is the fact that he has seen the Casket with his own two eyes, that he has basked in its presence and heard its cry, that brings tears to Loki’s eyes. It is exhilarating, and painful and overwhelming and confusing, and Loki is not sure how he is supposed to feel about it all, really.

 

Finally, that leaves Tyr, and Hoenir’s comment about Tyr wanting to find his lost prince. Of everything that has happened to him since he was taken that fateful day in the southeast market, Loki does not think he has ever been so afraid as he was at that moment. If King Thor had not caught him, he surely would have fainted from fright.

 

At that thought, Loki sighs, remembering the feeling of Thor’s strong, protective arms around him; and then he scowls at himself.

 

The king would protect him from Tyr, all right — if only to kill Loki himself.

 

A light knock comes to the door, and Loki sits up a little, pulling his blankets up even tighter around his shoulders. “If it’s Balder, go away!” he calls out angrily.

 

“It’s Skadi.”

 

Loki sits up further and frowns, puzzled. “Oh… then you may come in, I suppose.”

 

“Morning,” Skadi says wryly, entering the room with a tray full of breakfast. Though Loki’s stomach quietly growls in appreciation, he glares at Skadi out of principle as she sets the tray on his nightstand before pulling the chair from Loki’s vanity over beside his bed for her to sit down in. Once seated, she hands Loki the green robe that was draped on the back of his chair and watches as he slowly untangles his upper body from the sheets and slips it on, leaving it un-tied but pulled tightly over his shoulders so that merely a sliver of his torso is exposed. She then hands him a glass of juice from the tray before casually sipping from her water, eyes fixed on him as if this is an every day occurrence for them.

 

Annoyed, Loki turns his attention to the tray as he sips his juice, and his eyes immediately zero in on a small plate containing a couple of different kinds of meat. “I don’t eat meat, remember?”

 

Skadi rolls her eyes. “How could I forget? You aren’t the only one who missed breakfast.” To prove her point, she grabs one of the utensils on the tray and spears a thin slice of pork before taking a large, obnoxious bite of it. After swallowing, she adds, “But notice that I included many of your favorites.”

 

Loki curls his lip in distaste at her but then takes a second look at the tray, finding cooked eggs, slivers of fried potatoes, hot bread with the sweet butter that Loki favors, and fresh, cut up pieces of melon and citrus fruits. The real treat, however, is the dish of large, juicy strawberries that makes Loki’s mouth water just by looking at them.

 

He pops one of the delectable strawberries in his mouth and makes sure to chew as obnoxiously as Skadi while buttering a slice of bread. They sit without conversing for a few minutes, looking at each other only occasionally as they eat.

 

Finally, amidst one of the potatoes, Loki breaks the silence. “Why are you here?”

 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Skadi responds automatically.

 

“Do the others know what happened?”

 

“No. I told them that you’ve come down with a contagious stomach virus.” Skadi’s lips twitch. “It was the only way to keep Lorelei from your room this morning.”

 

Unable to help himself, Loki laughs before turning serious again. “So nobody outside the harem knows about last night, either?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure everybody knows by now,” Skadi drawls, “though its all rumors, of course; Tyr will probably give a speech later today explaining what _officially_ happened. But nobody knows about your involvement except for the king, Balder and myself, and Hoenir and Tyr… and a few high guards and Heimdall.” Loki stares impassively at her over his juice as she slyly adds, “The other girls would certainly hate you — more than many of them already do — if they knew what a head start you’ve gotten with the king.”

 

Loki decides to not dignify her comment with a response. “Where is Balder?”

 

“I told him to leave you be for a while.” Skadi dabs at the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin before leaning back in her chair and regarding Loki seriously. “He feels terrible about what happened.”

 

Satisfied, Loki raises his nose a little. “Good.”

 

“He was up most of the night fretting over you.”

 

And just like that, Loki’s satisfaction vanishes. Regardless, he shovels some eggs into his mouth and petulantly mutters, “I was up most of the night, too, thanks to him.”

 

“You cannot fault Balder for doing his job,” Skadi reprimands, “especially since he has been so kind and generous to you of his own will. Indulging you as he has with books and sweets and conversation is _not_ part of his job description.”

 

Loki shakes his head obstinately. “He was just doing all of that to pry information out of me, to study me and make _observations_ about me like I’m an experiment or something.” He brings his drink to his lips again.

 

“Stop making everything about you.”

 

Loki chokes, but manages to swallow before gaping at Skadi. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“You heard me,” Skadi says harshly.

 

“How is this _not_ about me?” Loki demands, eyes flashing. “I was the one singled out of a crowd by Tyr and chosen by Balder, and _I_ was the one who gained the interest of Hoenir — all against my own will, mind you.” He slams his now-empty cup down on the nightstand. “And now I’m expected to… _perform_ for King Thor in and out of the bedroom, giving my body _and_ my mind? I never asked for this!”

 

“You _selfish_ child.” Loki gapes in outrage, but is unable to get a word in before Skadi leans forward and continues, “Here you sit in the lap of luxury, lying around in the king’s harem where you’re pampered and spoiled without having to do any semblance of actual work –“

 

“I am a prisoner!” Loki yells.

 

“Oh, yes, and just look at the conditions in which you’re kept,” Skadi cries, waving an arm around his room. “It is far worse than the dark, rat-infested dungeons of the palace where murderers, rapists, and _thieves_ “ — she looks at Loki pointedly — “are left to die.” She then gestures at the half-empty tray of food. “And look at how they starve you!”

 

“The conditions of my _imprisonment_ do not matter,” Loki hisses. “I am being kept here against my will, groomed as a _slave_ for the _pampered_ and _spoiled_ king of Asgard, and –“

 

Skadi raises her hand as if to hit him, and Loki flinches back, eyes wide and fearful. And for the first time, Skadi looks almost guilty.

 

Slowly, she lowers her hand and leans back in her chair again, and Loki takes a deep breath. “Loki, I –“

 

“You don’t know me,” Loki rasps, throat dry. His eyes tear up. “You don’t. You have no idea who I am… _what_ I am.”

 

“You are a child,” Skadi says, her tone once again quiet and even, “a child who talks too much, who spins lies more than he speaks truths, who’s cruel and prideful and _selfish_.”

 

And it hurts, because Loki knows that she is right. He has always known.

 

Living in the Golden Realm while his people starve and suffer in Jotunheim; forcing Angrboda into a dangerous new life that he never asked for, protecting and providing for Loki without receiving anything in return; even living in a small, comfortable cottage with Angrboda as starving orphan children and sick, elderly Aesir vacant the southeast corner of the city — yes, Loki is privileged beyond belief, and he has always been selfishly glad of it.

 

Skadi did not need to remind him.

 

“You’re right,” Loki says, and it comes out weaker than he intended. He looks to the window, not wanting Skadi to see his tears. “I warned you and Balder from the beginning that I’m unfit for the throne… I even told Balder that I’m selfish when I first met him, yet he still chose me…”

 

“Balder has his reasons,” Skadi says softly.

 

Loki still does not look at her as he asks, “Then what do you see in me? Balder told me that you love and respect King Thor, that you volunteered for this job because you _wanted_ to help find a queen who is worthy of him… so why me?”

 

Skadi is quiet for a long time, and Loki expects her to say that it is because he is smart, and cunning — maybe even beautiful, though Loki still does not see it. But then, “You can be gentle.” Loki jerks back to her in surprise, and she continues, “And you are thoughtful, and very sensitive…  even compassionate.”

 

“What?” Loki breathes, brows furrowed.

 

“You are a child,” Skadi says again, “full of contradictions and complexities, that has been given an incredible opportunity to serve his king, and his people.” Loki swallows, thinking of a very different king and people until Skadi adds, “And now you have captured the king’s attention.”

 

Loki sucks in a breath, and Skadi inclines her head. “You could have the entire universe if you so wished it.”

 

Loki blinks a couple of times before closing his eyes, refusing to hear anymore. “What I _wish_ is to be alone now,” he mutters.

 

He hears Skadi rise a moment later. “As I said, the others should not bother you for the rest of the day, so get some rest. We’ve postponed our lecture on the Asgard/Vanaheim conflict for you, so you won’t be missing anything important.” After opening the door, she asks, “Do you need anything before I leave you?”

 

Loki opens his eyes and looks at her pleadingly. “My uncle. Please… I need him.”

 

“He’s already been sent for,” Skadi tells him before closing the door behind her.

  

* * *

  

If Thor could have his way — and Thor thinks it is terribly unfunny how often he, the king of Asgard, the highest being in the nine realms, does not get his way — Odin and Frigga, let alone the rest of Asgard, would never know of what transpired last night.

 

But unfortunately, four guards died; and Thor would never deny them the honor they deserve, both for their souls and for the families they tragically left behind.

 

And so he waits until mid-morning before riding out to the Bifrost with an extra horse, and has Heimdall call Odin and Frigga home. When his parents shortly appear before him, they are not confused or angry but somber, all-knowing.

 

Thor is not sure why he expected anything different.

 

Nonetheless, he explains right then and there what happened without any preamble, finding it much easier to confess without advisors to whisper in his ear (or in Hoenir’s case, loudly interrupt). Odin and Frigga listen without interruption, and when he is finished, Thor cannot help but expect their disappointment, if nothing else.

 

But instead, Frigga just throws her arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she says, and Thor smiles and returns her embrace.

 

“What are we going to tell the public?” she asks once she has released him.

 

“The truth,” Thor says firmly. “They deserve that much.”

 

“They will be afraid,” Odin points out, though he is not calling Thor’s decision a bad one. “They will fear more traitors, another Frost Giant break-in.”

 

“Not when they know of your return,” Thor says to both of them with a tinge of bitterness. “After all, that’s why this happened when it did.”

 

“Oh, yes, and they wouldn’t have done the same if it had been you and I traveling to Alfheim, or you and your mother leaving me with the throne,” Odin says sarcastically, but gently.

 

Frigga nods. “Your father is right, Thor. Whoever did this did not act because of any weaknesses you might have, but because two of the three most powerful figures in Asgard just happened to be gone.”

 

“It was merely the best opportunity,” Odin concludes.

 

Thor does not believe them, not even a little bit; but he appreciates their efforts all the same and therefore decides to not argue with them. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

“Of course we’re right,” Odin says, and Thor rolls his eyes fondly. “Now, we should go write something for Tyr to say –“

 

“No,” Thor cuts him off, and they both look surprised.

 

“No?”

 

“I am giving the speech myself. Our people deserve to hear this straight from their king… the families of the fallen guards even more so.” A little less confidently, he adds, “How can I expect my subjects to trust me if I won’t even speak to them directly?”

 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Frigga says after a moment, and she is glowing as she looks up at Thor.

 

Odin smiles, too, and says, “They will also be less fearful if their Golden King explains the situation to them.”

 

Thor gives them a grateful smile. “I’m glad that you both agree.”

 

“What of the traitor?” Frigga asks.

 

“We are looking into it. With the evidence we have to go on, it shouldn’t take long to narrow down a list of suspects.”

 

“Who was the sorcerer?” Odin asks after a moment.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The sorcerer you consulted, who interpreted the evidence for you. Who was she?”

 

“It… it was not a ‘she,’” Thor corrects reluctantly.

 

Odin perks up. “A male sorcerer, eh?”

 

Frigga narrows her eyes at Thor. “Who?”

 

Thor looks at her for a long moment before huffing, irritated. “You already know who it was.”

 

Frigga has the nerve to look amused. “Thor –“

 

“It was the boy from the harem,” Thor snaps, crossing his arms, and then, far softer, “It was Loki.”

 

“Loki,” Frigga parrots, a small, pleased smile on her face.

 

“Ah yes, Loki,” Odin says, as if he knows the boy personally.

 

Thor frowns. “I know it seems an unorthodox choice, but there wasn’t anyone else –“

 

“It is perfectly fine, Thor,” Frigga insists, and she and Odin exit the Bifrost chamber without another word.

 

Thor stares after them, baffled, until Heimdall’s deep voice intones, “You wish to know how he is.”

 

Seeing no use in denying it, Thor turns to the Gatekeeper. “Yes. Is he well?”

 

“He was ill most of the night, and slept little. He cries often, afraid.”

 

“Afraid of what?” Thor demands, his hand subconsciously moving towards Mjolnir.

 

“I cannot read minds, my king,” Heimdall reminds him. “He seems to be in no danger, if that is what worries you.”

 

Thor relaxes, though he begins to feel sick himself. “I… thank you, Heimdall.”

 

Heimdall nods, and Thor exits the chamber to find his parents standing near the horses, whispering to one another. They stop the second they see him, but Thor is too tired to question them and instead plasters a smile on his face before helping his mother onto one of the horses. Then, teasingly, he helps his laughing father onto the other.

 

“Why did you not bring a third horse?” Frigga asks, and Thor just twirls Mjolnir with a smirk before flying high into the sky.

 

As he follows his parents across the Bifrost, he looks down over the glittering seas and thinks once more of Loki. The poor boy is probably afraid of more Frost Giants getting into Asgard, Thor thinks. Suddenly, he feels a new surge of determination to find and kill the traitor who brought them here — for Asgard, and for Loki.

 

It is the least he could do.

 

* * *

  

When the next knock comes, Loki is idly pacing by his bed, up and dressed for the day though he still has no intentions of leaving his room anytime soon.

 

“Skadi, I said I wished to be alone…” Loki trails off when Angrboda enters his room instead. “Uncle! I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

 

“And I didn’t expect to see you up and walking,” Angrboda replies happily. The bright smile on his face instantly tells Loki that Angrboda does not know what happened yet, and he strengthens his resolve not to burden his uncle with it. “I was told that you’ve been sleeping off an illness.”

 

Loki tries to smile, but as Angrboda’s own smile starts to fade, he knows that he was not very successful. To cover it, he hurries into Angrboda’s arms and hides his face in his uncle’s shoulder.

 

“I’m feeling better now,” he murmurs, and as Angrboda’s arms wrap around him, it is not a lie. “I was just exhausted, I think. And I haven’t been eating as much as I should.”

 

“Do you want me to go get you something to eat?” Angrboda asks, grabbing Loki’s shoulders and gently pushing him back so he can see his face. “It is almost noon now.”

 

Loki looks back at his now-empty breakfast tray and shakes his head. “No, Skadi brought me a late breakfast not long ago. But if you’re hungry…”

 

“I already ate,” Angrboda informs him casually, before suggesting, “Why don’t we sit down, then?”

 

A minute later they are reclining on the small bed together, sitting up with their backs propped against the headboard and their legs stretched out in front of them.

 

“So this is your room,” Angrboda comments. Loki hums and lays his head on Angrboda’s shoulder, and smiles when he feels his uncle’s head lie on top of his in return. “I’m sorry that you’re ill, but I have to admit that I’m glad for a reason to finally be allowed further than the main hall. I feel better now that I’ve seen where you sleep.”

 

“I could do worse,” Loki says, more bitterly than he intended.

 

“Did you hear about what happened last night?”

 

Loki struggles to keep his breathing even. “No. What happened?”

 

“The weapons vault was broken into.”

 

“Oh?” Trying to sound surprised, he asks, “By whom? Did they take anything?”

 

“I don’t know,” Angrboda says, and Loki’s head is lightly jostled as he shrugs his shoulders. “King Thor himself is supposed to give a speech about it soon, or so I heard… which is surprising because the king always has Tyr give these kinds of speeches for him.”

 

“Oh,” Loki says faintly.

 

“Now, my sweet nephew,” Angrboda begins softly, “are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or am I going to have to pry it out of you, as usual?”

 

Loki pulls his head away from Angrboda’s shoulder to lightly glare at him, but Angrboda just chuckles and uses his thumb to smooth Loki’s brow. “Do not look at me like that, Loki. You are a talented liar to all but me. Now, what’s wrong?”

 

Deciding to tell Angrboda a portion of the truth, Loki confides, “I’m selfish.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m selfish.”

 

“I heard you the first time,” Angrboda says, his tone clipped. “Why?”

 

“Because while… _others_ starve and struggle to survive,” Loki says carefully, and Angrboda stiffens in understanding, “I live a life of luxury and –“

 

“Stop.” Angrboda grabs both of Loki’s hands in his own and holds on to them tightly, almost desperately. “We’ve had this conversation before… many, many times over the years, in fact.”

 

“I know,” Loki says sulkily.

 

Angrboda raises an eyebrow. “Do you? Then you must remember what I tell you every time.” Loki says nothing. “You are _not_ being selfish, Loki. Protecting oneself is not selfish, all right? And besides, going home now and getting yourself killed, be it naturally or… otherwise, would only make things worse for everyone; and _that_ would be selfish.”

 

“But look at me,” Loki whispers, pulling his hands away from Angrboda’s to gesture at himself. “My appearance, my clothes, this _room_ … I call myself a prisoner, but –“

 

“You _are_ a prisoner,” Angrboda insists. “What, do you think that being a prisoner involves being chained inside a dark dungeon? Loki, you are a very different kind of prisoner than that, but you are a prisoner, nonetheless. Are you being kept here against your will?”

 

“Well, yes –“

 

“Then you are a prisoner.”

 

Loki remains quiet again, so Angrboda presses, “Who told you this?”

 

“What?”

 

“Who told you that you were being selfish, that you’re not a real prisoner?”

 

“Well, Skadi,” Loki says hurriedly, “but I –“

 

“Loki,” Angrboda interrupts again, but in a low, serious tone that makes Loki cringe, knowing what is about to follow. “What are you not telling me?”

 

“Nothing –“

 

“Stop lying to me. What happened?”

 

Loki feels his walls slowly begin to crumble. “Can he hear us?” he whispers after a moment.

 

“No,” Angrboda says firmly.

 

Loki blames his lack of sleep for what happens next.

 

He breaks down into tears, and it is only after Angrboda’s hands have stroked his back and his hair several times over that he is able to get any words out. He tells his uncle everything, from his discussions with Balder to assisting the king in the weapons vault. He starts shaking when he describes the bodies of the dead Jotuns, only calming when Angrboda pulls him even tighter against his chest, and he quietly sobs his way through describing the Casket and how it called to him, as well as Hoenir implying that Tyr is looking for a lost Jotun prince.

 

The only thing he leaves out is how he had already met King Thor, because there is no use in giving his uncle a heart attack on top of everything else.

 

He feels guilty enough as it is.

 

When he is finished, Angrboda holds him until he has calmed down a little, and then he cradles Loki’s face in his hands. “You’re going to be all right.”

 

“But Tyr,” Loki cries, “he’s…”

 

Angrboda abruptly shakes his head. “No. Tyr is just another conspiracy theorist. He has no idea what he’s truly looking for.”

 

“Uncle, I’m scared,” Loki sobs. “I want to go home.”

 

“I know, my sweet nephew. I know.” Angrboda dries Loki’s tears with his thumbs before pressing a long kiss to his forehead. “You’re nearing the half-way mark — did you know?”

 

Despite his tears, Loki is still able to deadpan, “It is has not even been five months yet.”

 

Angrboda smiles. “But we are almost to the fifth month, and five is only one away from six!”

 

“Six months is still plenty of time,” Loki argues, though he is not quite sure what he is talking about anymore.

 

“It will go by quickly,” Angrboda assures him, “and then the twelve months will be over. You will be released, Loki! You will get to come _home_ , to me and to Svadilfari.”

 

Loki sniffs and smiles weakly. “I suppose.” By the tightening around Angrboda’s eyes, he knows that his uncle is not satisfied with his answer.

 

But instead of engaging him further, Angrboda positions both of them to where they are lying on their sides, Loki curled up against his uncle while Angrboda rubs his back again in soothing, circular motions.

 

“Tell me more about the Casket,” Angrboda prompts some time later.

 

Loki frowns. “It is… hard to put into words, really.”

 

Angrboda snorts. “Loki? Speechless?”

 

“Shut it.”

 

“Ragnarok is finally upon us!”

 

Loki lightly kicks his uncle’s shin and smirks at the exaggerated cry of pain that follows. “Stop teasing me.”

 

And just when Loki thinks he could not possibly love his uncle any more than he already does, Angrboda grins at him; and for a few seconds, Loki is not scared anymore.

 

“As I was saying,” Loki continues hotly, though the love pouring from his eyes is obvious judging by the softening of Angrboda’s expression, “it’s hard to explain. I felt it calling to me –“

 

“To you specifically?”

 

“I don’t know… I think so.” Loki thinks about it a moment, and then he nods. “Yes. At first I thought it might be because it was powerful enough to sense my magic, though it lies dormant; but now I’m starting to think that it… recognized me, so to speak.”

 

“I’m sure it was both,” Angrboda deduces. “Sentient artifacts that powerful often sense strong magic users nearby, so I have no doubt that the Casket — and possibly some of the other weapons in there, as well — sensed a powerful sorcerer in their presence and reached out accordingly.” Loki smiles, as he always does when Angrboda praises his talents. “You remember what I taught you about the Casket, yes?”

 

“That it has ties to my bloodline?”

 

“Yes. Created by Ymir himself, it breathes for every Jotun, but only those of royal Jotnar blood are able to wield it properly, to access its full potential. It would call to me if I were in its presence, I’m sure; but not in the same way it would to you or your brothers.”

 

“I can’t get its song out of my head,” Loki murmurs. “So sad, haunting…”

 

“Of course it’s sad; the Casket is a prisoner, after all… much like you are.”

 

They are silent for a few minutes, and then Loki abruptly sits up with a gasp, a new horror dawning in his mind. “What is it?” Angrboda demands, sitting up with him. “Are you ill again?”

 

“The other weapons!” Loki cries, his face paling with each second.

 

“What about them?”

 

Loki looks at his uncle in dismay. “I was so distracted by the Casket and King Thor” — Angrboda raises an eyebrow — “that I forgot to look at them!” When Angrboda’s eyebrow stays in place, Loki explains, “I didn’t examine the other weapons, even see what they were, and I’ve always wanted to know –“

 

“Loki,” Angrboda groans, rolling his eyes and pulling both of them to lie back down. “I know you’re curious, but it does not matter.” Loki shakes his head, about to protest, but then Angrboda says darkly, “If I have my way, you’ll never see the inside of that weapons vault again.”

 

Now it is Loki who looks at Angrboda worryingly. “Uncle... what are you –“

 

Angrboda hushes him. “You need to sleep.”

 

“I’ve tried,” Loki admits sadly, “but every time I close my eyes, I see and hear the Casket, and then Tyr is there and –“

 

“Close your eyes,” Angrboda orders gently, and Loki cannot help but obey. “Now, let me tell you about what Svadilfari and I did yesterday…”

 

Loki smiles, and is sleeping peacefully within minutes.

 

* * *

 

Angrboda carefully brushes away the stray hairs lingering on Loki’s relaxed face before rising from the bed and covering his nephew with a blanket. He should be out for a few hours, at least, and though Angrboda would not normally need to help his sleep along like that, he fears for his nephew if he does not rest.

 

Kissing his forehead once more, Angrboda turns and leaves the room, quickly but quietly making his way downstairs. He does not run into Balder or Skadi on his way out, which is fortunate — for their sake.

 

Loki has always felt so deeply, something that Angrboda with his centuries-repressed anger and expertly crafted facades does not always know how to handle. Loki pretends to be the same as his uncle, hiding his heart away and guarding it fiercely; but his sweet nephew is far more transparent and vulnerable than he realizes, or at least he is when it comes to Angrboda, who knows him better than he knows himself.

 

Loki has expressed feelings of guilt since his early childhood, of leaving his brothers behind to deal with Jotunheim and living under Angrboda’s protection. What he does not understand, however — despite decades of Angrboda trying to convince him otherwise — is that his brothers truly want him to live a better life than them. He is a precious thing, to his brothers.

 

As for Angrboda, it is true that his caring for Loki started out as a duty to King Laufey and Farbauti, even if it was one he took with honor. But now it is different.

 

He is not sure when the change happened, exactly — it could have been when Loki was knee-high and Angrboda sat him down on his lap one evening and told him the story of Loki’s parents and his heritage for the first time; or perhaps it was when an even younger Loki, as Angrboda was teaching him his first words, unknowingly referred to Angrboda as his dam.

 

Maybe it was when Angrboda picked up the youngest prince of Jotunheim for the first time in order to clean the blood off his skin.

 

Either way, his entire life revolves around his sweet nephew, and Angrboda would not have it any other way. He loves Loki, loves him as if he is a child born from Angrboda’s womb, loves him more than he ever thought himself capable of when it comes to loving another being. He would die for Loki, and not just because of his vows.

 

And seeing his strong, sweet nephew finally break down like he did is what has Angrboda scouring the palace corridors, looking for any sign of Hoenir. Predictably, he finds him not far from the healing wing; and with no Eir in sight, Angrboda does not hesitate in marching over to him.

 

“Angrboda,” Hoenir says, and his lack of surprise only serves to infuriate Angrboda further. “I’ve been looking for you.”

 

“Have you?” Angrboda snaps.

 

Hoenir hesitates, eyeing him warily, before, “I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened last night –“

 

“Are you talking about the official story that has yet to be given, or the truth?”

 

Hoenir’s expression hardens, but only in understanding. “Ah. You’ve already spoken to your nephew, I take it.”

 

Angrboda will not lash out. He will remain respectful, as always, for Loki’s safety. But for the first time, that does not stop him from openly expressing his anger. “Loki has not slept,” he says coldly. “He was up most of the night, vomiting out of fear.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoenir comments softly, and Angrboda takes a deep breath to steady himself.

 

“I had to use seidr just now to force him into sleep, because I was afraid he would not get any rest otherwise.” He looks Hoenir straight in the eyes, refusing to back down. “You’ve _terrified_ him.”

 

Hoenir nods solemnly. “I know. We would have consulted you last night, Angrboda, but we did not have time –“

 

“Loki is a sensitive child,” Angrboda tells him, “more so than he would like to think. And he is vulnerable, and still innocent in many regards.”

 

“I know.”

 

Angrboda has to look away as he says, “Seeing those dead bodies will probably haunt his dreams for months, not to mention how frightened he was to be brought before the king in the middle of the night with no forthcoming explanation.”

 

“I truly am sorry,” Hoenir says, and he seems earnest, genuine.

 

Angrboda sags wearily.

 

Then, what senses he lost upon spotting Hoenir slowly return to him. Looking at Hoenir anxiously, he pleads, “Do not punish Loki for telling me what happened… I beg of you.”

 

“I would never –“

 

“I can read my nephew better than anyone, my lord; I forced him to tell me what happened. It’s not his fault.”

 

“Of course. Loki will not be reprimanded for telling you, Angrboda. I swear it.”

 

Angrboda nods shakily. “Thank you.”

 

Hoenir smiles carefully. “I know I told you this last time we spoke on the subject, many months ago — but Loki truly is a wonderful child. I sense a great potential in him.”

 

Angrboda says nothing, but his jaw clenches at the thought of Hoenir wanting to use Loki again after one of the other youth is chosen queen.

 

Then Hoenir’s smile morphs into a light smirk, which only adds to Angrboda’s unease. “And besides, even if someone _did_ want to punish Loki in some way… they’d have to go through the king first, now.”

 

Angrboda blinks. “…What?”

 

“You remember, of course, that I told you that Loki has captured Queen Frigga’s attention?”

 

Angrboda nods, unsure of where this is going.

 

“Well…” Hoenir leans in and conspiratorially whispers, “Let’s just say that he now has King Thor’s as well.”

 

Angrboda freezes, his blood running so cold that he will later wonder at his glamour not betraying him.

 

Hoenir takes his stunned reaction as something positive, however, and departs with a wink and a friendly squeeze to his shoulder.

 

Angrboda stays in place a long time after Hoenir has left, only finding it in himself to move his feet again when those in passing begin sending him strange and concerned looks.

 

Suddenly, all he can think about is getting his sweet, innocent nephew as far away from King Thor as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Loki and Angrboda. They're kind of the most important relationship in this story, tbh.
> 
> And as for the "lost prince" business, that will all be revealed soon!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry?
> 
> No, really, I am SO sorry for the long wait. Work was insanely busy for me last month, and I just didn't have time to do any writing. Hopefully I can churn out the next few chapters relatively quickly to make up for it!

 

It is scarcely a few days after the weapons vault was broken into that a man is dragged before Hlidskjalf.

 

Rising from his throne, Thor recognizes the man as one of the many guards stationed in the lower levels of the palace, and takes in his unkempt appearance and the chains around his wrists and feet in alarm. “What is the meaning of this?” Thor barks.

 

“My king,” Vali begins warily from behind the prisoner, his blade to the man’s throat, “it seems that we have found our traitor.”

 

Thor is silent, awaiting an explanation; but the captain of the guard looks just as confused as Thor feels.

 

“He has just turned himself in.”

  

* * *

  

“I can’t believe this,” Thor fumes, pacing around his study.

 

“Careful,” Hoenir chides with a smirk. “You’re sounding like Tyr.”

 

Tyr shoots Hoenir a murderous glare before looking to Thor. “My king, I know it’s upsetting –“

 

“Infuriating, more like,” Thor growls. “None of this adds up.”

 

“It all adds up,” Tyr gently argues. “This man had the means, the capability, even the motive –“

 

“Yes, yes, many of his relatives died at the hand of Frost Giants,” Thor says with a petulant eye roll. “I know.”

 

Hoenir sighs. “Thor –“

 

“But why would he turn himself in?” Thor demands.

 

When Tyr and Hoenir have no answer for him, Thor turns to where Odin is leaning against the desk. “To prove a point?” Odin suggests when it is clear that Thor seeks an answer from him. “He would not be the first to sacrifice himself for some sort of misguided political cause, Thor; and neither will he be the last.”

 

Thor huffs. “I know, but –“

 

“It was his blood in the vault, my king,” Tyr says tiredly. “He fits the exact profile of what we knew to look for –“

 

“What _Loki_ knew to look for,” Thor corrects, and Odin and Hoenir smirk at each other behind his back.

 

Tyr grits his teeth. “Yes, what Loki told us. And to top it all off, his confession lines up perfectly with everything we know, so I don’t see why you’re still questioning it.” When Thor says nothing, Tyr lets out an impatient sigh. “Do you need to consult your new favorite sorcerer? Would that make you feel better?”

 

Thor looks at the ground thoughtfully. “Maybe.” When he looks up and sees the alarm on Tyr’s face, Thor rolls his eyes again. “I jest.”

 

Tyr recovers quickly enough and smiles. “So… when shall we schedule the execution?”

  

* * *

  

“Though Queen Alflyse still controls Svartalfheim, Malekith is steadily gaining followers,” Balder explains gravely. “Most believe that a civil war is inevitable.”

 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Loki asks, and everyone looks at him strangely.

 

Balder frowns. “Civil war?”

 

Loki shakes his head. “No, of course war is always terrible. What I meant is that it does not seem like such a bad thing for this Malekith to overthrow Queen Alflyse. From what you’ve told us about her, she has done nothing but take what little wealth her people have and squander it away for herself. Her people are already poor… Svartalfheim is the poorest realm next to” — Loki swallows — “Jotunheim; and their queen is the one keeping them destitute!”

 

“This is true,” Balder acquiesces. “But must it come to war? Can you not think of a more peaceful solution?”

 

“Slitting her throat while she sleeps?”

 

“Loki!” Skadi chides, and several of the girls gasp. Even Sigyn looks at him as if he just vowed to take Queen Alflyse’s life himself.

 

“Oh, come on,” Loki groans. “I didn’t mean that I was going to assassinate her personally. I just meant that if Malekith killed her, then perhaps he and his soldiers could move into power without all of the civilian causalities that war would bring with it.”

 

“That would be dishonorable,” Skadi points out, and many of the girls nod.

 

Loki snorts. “And Queen Alflyse’s treatment of her people isn’t?”

 

“It wouldn’t be right,” Balder argues.

 

“And don’t forget that what Malekith and his soldiers are doing is still treason,” Skadi adds. “Treason against the ruler they swore to serve.”

 

“So?” Loki retorts. “There is no such thing as black and white in these matters — only grey. I think that the _cowardly_ way, as you Aesir would call it, is a much smarter and kinder option than _honorably_ causing the death of thousands… if not more. I, personally, would take treason over war any day.”

 

“What about treaties, and talks of peace?” Balder asks him. “Surely you, with your love for words, would prefer communication over bloodshed.”

 

“I would,” Loki agrees easily. “But I also know when it is time to take action. At this point, Queen Alflyse will never relinquish her power and step down from the throne. So, someone will have to… help her along, so to speak.”

 

“By killing her,” Balder finishes for him.

 

Loki shrugs. “If it comes to that.”

 

“I think that’s enough for today,” Skadi says after a moment, peering at Loki strangely. “We will continue this discussion tomorrow.”

 

Balder reminds them of a few more things, and as soon as they are officially dismissed for the afternoon, Loki rises from the floor and starts to head out of the room.

 

“A moment, Loki?” Balder asks, and Loki forces himself to pause.

 

“Can it wait?” he asks without turning. “I’m very tired.”

 

“Leave him be, Balder,” he hears Skadi murmur. She then walks past Loki to leave, but not without placing her hand on his shoulder. It is only for a second, and there is no affectionate pat or squeeze to accompany her touch, but it still has Loki blinking in bewilderment. Skadi does not spare him a glance, however, and Loki is left wondering if he just imagined the entire thing.

 

“It can wait for now,” Balder says quietly, knocking Loki out of his daze. “Your well-being is more important.” Loki swallows and, though he still refuses to look back at him, nods.

 

Loki walks down the stairs at a leisurely pace, one hand sliding down the railing with each step he takes. Though he did use it as an excuse, it was not a lie when he told Balder that he was tired. He had another nightmare last night, where he, somehow without bracelets, managed to break into the weapons vault. But just as he was about to steal the Casket, Tyr grabbed him from behind with a hand around his throat.

 

Loki had then woken with a soft cry, and he nearly emptied the contents of his stomach once again. It was hard to go back to sleep after that.

 

And with the news brought to them earlier concerning Asgard’s latest traitor, Loki feels even more exhausted.

 

He intends to lie in the shade of his favorite tree and take a nap, but just as he walks into the garden, Sigyn steps up beside him. “That was… intense.”

 

Loki decides to play dumb. “What was?”

 

Sigyn rolls her eyes at him fondly. “I agree with you, though.”

 

Loki stops just before his tree and turns to her with both eyebrows raised. “You do?”

 

Sigyn nods. “Sometimes action is necessary. Amora and Lorelei agree with you, too… though they’ll never admit it to your face.”

 

“Never,” Loki concurs with a laugh.

 

Sigyn begins twirling a long lock of her hair between two fingers. “So… what are you going to do until dinner?”

 

“I think I’m going to nap here,” Loki answers, sitting beneath his tree. When he looks up a moment later to find her still standing there, he raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Did you need anything?”

 

Sigyn shuffles her feet awkwardly. “I… no.” She smiles. “I suppose I’ll see you later, then.”

 

Loki watches her go with his eyebrows raised even higher, but after a moment he shrugs off her odd behavior and lies down on his back. Basking in the cool breeze, he watches the tree leaves gently sway until his eyes close on their own accord.

 

When he wakes up a few hours later, lying on his side with his body nearly curled in on itself, he remembers opening his eyes at one point and seeing a raven perched on one of the branches above, looking down on him.

 

He wonders if he was merely dreaming again. 

 

* * *

  

Frigga’s garden, Fensalir, is the most famous garden in all of Asgard. Covering several acres and consisting of thousands of flora species that come from all over the nine realms, it is well known for its hanging vines, the exotic fruits and berries that grow from many of the plants, and the crystal clear water of the Iving river that runs through it, never freezing over and rumored to parch the thirst of all creatures who drink from it.

 

In the center of Fensalir lies Frigga’s sanctuary, a gated section that is accessible only to her, her handmaidens, and — unless Frigga forbids them — Odin and Thor. This is where Thor finds her now, sitting by herself on the stone bench beneath her favorite willow tree, a book in hand.

 

When she looks up and smiles at him, Thor knows that his presence is welcomed. “Thor,” she greets, waving him over. “Come sit with me.”

 

A great flapping of wings is heard, and they both look up to see one of Odin’s ravens flying over Fensalir, either in search of its master or departing on a mission for him.

 

“Ahh, Huginn,” Thor says fondly as he sits beside his mother. “I’ve been seeing him around much more than usual these days. His beady little eyes follow me nearly everywhere.”

 

“Is that so?” Frigga questions casually.

 

“Tell me, mother: is father spying on me?” Thor asks in a teasingly stern voice.

 

Frigga hums. “That, or you and Huginn have merely grown closer.”

 

“That may be,” Thor replies with a chuckle. Then, with a slight frown, he adds, “Muninn, however, I have not seen much of lately.”

 

“You know your father,” Frigga says with a shrug. “He assigns his ravens separate tasks sometimes. The birds miss each other terribly while apart from one another; but they serve their master well, and without complaint.”

 

Changing the subject, Thor says, “I’m still sorry that Freyja could not leave Alfheim with you. If you had not been called back so soon –“

 

“Do not apologize,” Frigga says kindly, but in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “She is still planning on visiting, and should arrive within a few weeks.”

 

“Truly?” Thor asks, and smiles. “I am glad to hear it.”

 

Frigga returns his smile. “I imagine she will want to look at all of Asgard’s potential queens.”

 

Having known Freyja and her teasing for centuries, Thor blanches. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

 

“Why not? She’ll give us a fresh perspective on them.” Thor nods absentmindedly, and then Frigga adds coyly, “She’ll positively love the boy… what is his name, again?”

 

Thor levels an unimpressed glare at her. “You know his name, mother.”

 

Frigga smirks at him but changes the subject as swiftly as Thor had earlier. “Your people are very impressed with you these days, you know.”

 

“Are they?”

 

“I know that your father and I have already showered you with praise, but your speech was just what the people needed — not only to hear, but to see from their king. And your quick capture of the traitor –“

 

“He turned himself in,” Thor reminds her gruffly, but he warms at his mother’s compliments.

 

“Nonetheless.” Frigga places a gentle hand on his cheek. “I am very proud of you, my son. My king.”

 

Thor smiles and grabs her hand in his, and they sit in companionable silence for a few minutes.

 

And Thor thinks of Loki.

 

The boy has probably heard of the traitor’s so-called capture by now, since the entire kingdom is rejoicing with the news; but Thor wonders if he should explain the situation to Loki himself, to reassure the youth that he need not fear another invasion of Frost Giants.

 

He also wishes to thank Loki again for his valuable service. And, despite the fact that Tyr obviously meant it as a cutting jab, Thor honestly would not mind having Loki’s council on the matter of the traitor turning himself in.

 

If Loki — clever, cunning Loki — sees nothing overly strange about the situation, then Thor will put his unease to rest.

 

He will have to be discreet, he knows; but then again, he is the king of Asgard — he can demand Loki’s presence whenever and wherever he wants, propriety be damned.

 

“What are you thinking of, my son?” Frigga inquires.

 

“Of the feast we will throw Freyja, of course,” Thor is quick to reply, and Frigga laughs delightedly.

 

Not long afterwards, Thor excuses himself from his mother’s presence and has the messenger from the night of the break-in brought before him in his study. Like before, the young man is clearly nervous, but he does an admirable job of trying not to show it.

 

“What is your name?” Thor asks him, seated behind his desk.

 

“Ullr, your majesty.”

 

Thor leans forward. “Ullr, I need your assistance on a… shall we say, private matter.” Ullr gulps, eyes widening a little, and Thor briefly wonders what in Hel’s name the state of his reputation is in these days.

 

He then thinks about drawing out Ullr’s torture further, but ultimately decides to save his fun for Loki. “I need you to bring someone to me, here, tonight.”

 

Ullr lets out a sigh of relief before quickly drawing himself up, the tips of his ears beginning to turn red. He does not ask questions, however, instead waiting for Thor to provide more information.

 

Thor knew there was something about him that he liked.

 

“A little past midnight, go to the harem,” Thor instructs, “and tell Balder or Skadi that I demand the presence of the male sorcerer who resides there.” Ullr keeps his face perfectly blank this time, but when his ears burn hotter, Thor rolls his eyes. It is none of the messenger’s business, but he does not want Balder and Skadi getting the wrong idea. “Tell them that I merely wish for his council on a matter, and then bring the sorcerer to me — alone.”

 

Ullr bows again. “As you wish, my king.”

 

Thor tosses a rolled-up document at him, which Ullr manages to catch just before it sails past him. “Here is a letter with my seal on it, just in case they try to challenge you.”

 

“I, uh… thank you, your majesty. It will be done.”

 

“And Ullr,” Thor calls just as Ullr is about to leave. “Do not tell _anyone_ about this. Do you understand?”

 

“O-of course!” Ullr stutters, paling.

 

“As I said, this is a private matter,” Thor continues. “And when you bring the sorcerer to me, wait outside my study until I dismiss him, and then you shall escort him back… and _only_ once he’s safely back inside the harem will you be free to go.”

 

Prejudices against male sorcerers suddenly come to mind, and Thor thinks of Loki’s peculiarities as well as his beauty when he gives Ullr a severe look. “Treat him with respect, and above all, guard his safety.”

 

Then, remembering Loki’s fear during their last encounter, “And make sure Loki — the sorcerer — knows that this isn’t dire, and that he need not fear being brought before me.”

 

Finally satisfied that he has covered everything — he is confident that Ullr will not attempt anything like blindfolding the poor boy on his way here, so he does not mention it — Thor leans back in his chair. “Any questions?”

 

Though his unnatural pallor still leaves much to be desired, Ullr straightens his posture and puffs out his chest a little, seemingly up to the challenge. “None, my king.”

 

Thor grins. Yes, he most certainly likes this one.

 

* * *

  

Exhausted though he may have been, Loki should not have napped that afternoon.

 

A few hours after everyone else has gone to sleep, Loki finally gives up and throws on his green robe before leaving his suite. He walks down the stairs with no real destination in mind, but his feet wind up taking him to the kitchen. Once there, he pushes himself up onto the bar counter, allowing his legs to dangle freely as he contemplates whether or not his body is actually hungry.

 

“Loki?”

 

With his back turned to Balder, Loki cringes. He wants desperately to run, and curses himself for being out in the open instead of hiding in the pantry; but he stays where he is, even as he hears footsteps coming closer. “What are you doing up?”

 

Light soon floods the room, and though it is not overly bright, Loki is left squinting for a few seconds regardless. He struggles to not send Balder a scathing glare over his shoulder.

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he eventually mumbles, swinging his legs nervously. He is not ready for this conversation, but he knows that there is no escape now that Balder finally has him cornered.

 

“Neither could I.” Balder slowly comes into view, but Loki refuses to look up from where he’s wringing his hands together. “Are you hungry?”

 

“Maybe a little,” Loki eventually admits, and braces for the chastising that is sure to come. Balder and Skadi keep telling him to eat more during meal times, and if Skadi knew that Loki has made more than one midnight trip to the kitchen in the past few weeks, he would never hear the end of it.

 

“Let me make you something,” Balder says instead, and he sounds so much like Angrboda in that moment that Loki cannot find it in himself to turn him down.

 

He does not look up until Balder turns away, watching as he goes about preparing a light meal of porridge and fruit. His eyes snap back down to his hands every time Balder glances his way, however, and only peer back up once he is certain it is safe.

 

A few minutes later, Balder is handing him a bowl and utensil, which Loki accepts with downcast eyes. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

 

Instead of replying, Balder hefts himself onto the counter besides Loki and sends him a blinding smile — even out of the corner of his eye, Loki is forced to squint again — before digging in to his own porridge.

 

They eat in silence for at first, but it is not long until Balder clears his throat, signaling that he wants to talk. Loki sighs softly and prays for patience.

 

“I don’t blame you for being mad,” Balder begins carefully. At this, Loki does look up at him, but this time it is Balder who looks down and away.

 

“I’m not mad,” Loki says, and is surprised to find that he is telling the truth. “Not at you, anyway.” He smiles sardonically. “If anything, I’m mad at myself for thinking I could trust anyone around here. It was stupid of me to even think that someone like you would actually enjoy my company.”

 

“I do,” Balder says firmly, and they finally lock gazes. “More than you know.” Loki looks at him disbelievingly, but he continues, “Everyone knows that you’re my favorite.”

 

Loki smirks before he can stop himself. “Well, you don’t have much to choose from.” Instead of appropriately chiding him, Balder merely chuckles.

 

“You were just doing your job,” Loki concludes a moment later, and Balder’s eyes cut away again.

 

“Yes, my job,” he says lowly, and Loki is surprised at the bitterness in his tone. He has never heard Balder sound like that before.

 

Balder then looks back at Loki. “But I want you to know that the reports I gave to Hoenir… they were _only_ about your magic, and your intelligence and potential. You may not believe me, and I’ll understand if you don’t… but know that if you ever came to me with something personal, I would keep your confidence — no matter what.”

 

Loki is tired of crying, so he merely smiles at Balder. “I believe you.”

 

He believes in Balder’s sincerity, that is; but he knows far too well that he can never truly confide in Balder, nor Skadi or Sigyn or anyone else.

 

Angrboda and Svadilfari are the only two beings he can trust.

 

“By the way, green is a lovely color on you,” Balder says, eyeing Loki’s robe as he takes their now empty bowls and sets them aside.

 

Despite himself, Loki is intrigued. “Really?” he asks, holding out his arms and noting the contrast where dark green sleeves meet pale wrists.

 

“My lord,” someone says from behind them, and Balder and Loki twist around in surprise to find a young man standing in the doorway, dressed as a messenger. Without preamble, he states, “King Thor demands the presence of the male sorcerer who lives here.” His eyes dart over to Loki curiously, but quickly return to Balder.

 

Loki looks at Balder with wide eyes, but Balder merely gives Loki’s thigh a quick pat before standing and walking around to face the messenger. “What’s happened?”

 

“Nothing, my lord. He merely seeks the sorcerer’s council on a private matter.”

 

Loki bites his lip, nervous at the prospect of being brought before the king again; but he cannot deny how curious he is, either.

 

“It’s late,” Balder argues.

 

The messenger bows his head a little. “Pardon me, my lord; but it was not a request.”

 

Before Balder can reply, Loki slips off the counter and comes to stand beside him. “I will go,” he tells Balder.

 

“I will accompany you,” Balder is quick to return, and although Loki is tempted to take him up on the offer, he ultimately shakes his head.

 

“No, please stay. You should try and get some sleep.”

 

“Loki –“

 

“The king ordered that I escort him alone,” the messenger intervenes meekly.

 

“Did he?” Balder retorts, rounding on him angrily.

 

Despite everything, Loki almost laughs. An angry Balder is most amusing, he finds.

 

The messenger unfolds a document and passes it to Balder with shaky hands. “What does it say?” Loki asks, but he only has time to glance at the seal melted onto the bottom right corner — an outline of Mjolnir, Loki notes — before Balder is shoving the paper back into the messenger’s hold.

 

Balder is quiet for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. “You will bring him back as soon as King Thor allows, yes?”

 

“My instructions are to personally make sure he is safely returned to the harem once the king dismisses him,” the messenger replies almost robotically. He hesitantly adds, “The king is insistent on his protection.”

 

Balder and the messenger then exchange a look that goes right over Loki’s head. “What is it?” Loki demands.

 

“As he should be,” Balder eventually replies, ignoring Loki. “And see that you do protect him.”

 

Loki huffs, angry at being spoken about as if he is not standing right there. “Balder, what –“

 

“Never you mind,” Balder says to Loki. He does not mean to sound patronizing, Loki knows; but he presses his lips together to keep from pouting anyway.

 

Balder’s expression becomes concerned again, and Loki is both saddened and touched at the sudden realization that Balder will not sleep at all until he sees with his own eyes that Loki is safely returned.

 

It is selfish of him, but Loki is relieved, and he follows the messenger outside without another word.

 

It is halfway to the palace that he remembers that his attire only consists of his sleep clothes, a robe, and a pair of black slippers. “Not again!” Loki groans loudly, startling the messenger.

 

“W-what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Loki whines, knowing that there is no way they can go back. The messenger does not reply, and so a few seconds later Loki mumbles, “I am not dressed properly.”

 

The messenger’s ears turn red, and he carefully does not look at Loki as he replies, “I think you look nice… if you don’t mind my saying so.”

 

Loki sighs dramatically, though a smile is tugging at his lips. “Thank you,” he mutters reluctantly.

 

The messenger gives a curt nod, and is wise enough not to comment when Loki starts primping himself anyway.

 

Thor has absolutely nothing to do with it, Loki tells himself. He simply likes to look his best, no matter the occasion.

 

At least he went to bed with leggings on, he thinks with a grimace. Lately he has taken to sleeping in only a sleep shirt or just his smallclothes, and the thought of Thor seeing him like that has him pulling his robe tighter around his body, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

 

Once inside the palace, it is clear that the messenger is taking him on a different path than Hoenir did, though Loki chooses to remain silent this time, (mostly) confident that he is not being led to his demise.

 

When they stop at their final set of doors, Loki expects the messenger to escort him inside, but instead he motions for Loki himself to step into the room alone.

 

And Loki suddenly panics.

 

“Aren’t you coming in with me?” he whispers desperately, eyes wide.

 

“He requested privacy!” the messenger whispers back, looking downright terrified of Loki.

 

Loki hates that he is unable to enjoy it right now.

 

Turning away from him, Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as the guards pull open the doors for him. Once they are opened, he opens his eyes and hesitates venturing in at first; but once the thought crosses his mind to ask the messenger how he truly looks, Loki growls under his breath and marches inside the room, not even flinching when the doors ring shut behind him.

 

Thor is sitting at a large, elaborate desk in the center of the room, looking through various papers and seemingly jotting down notes to one side. To Loki’s surprise, he does not spare a single glance his way.

 

After a minute or two of not being acknowledged, Loki finds himself annoyed and looks around for something to do. Turning, he settles on examining the nearest bookshelf, noting titles on history and war tactics. He thinks he feels eyes on his back, then; but he finds his courage fading away, so he does not dare look back to confirm it.

 

He is just reaching out to touch the spine of one of the books — a record of the Great War between Asgard and Jotunheim — when Thor sharply calls, “Loki!”

 

Loki is embarrassed at how quickly he spins around, like a child caught doing something they should not; or worse, Loki thinks after the fact, like a dog beckoning to its master’s call.

 

Thor gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Loki waits for an invitation to seat himself before realizing that Thor is not inviting him to sit down, but commanding him to. And with the relaxed yet stern look on Thor’s face, not to mention how powerful and imposing his body is even when sitting behind a desk — Thor’s shoulders are not actually that broad, Loki tells himself; it is merely the fires on either side of him, casting the room in a amber glow, creating an optical illusion — Loki finds himself obeying without a word.

 

Once seated, he folds his hands neatly in his lap and tries to keep his expression neutral yet pleasant as he looks at Thor expectantly. But instead of addressing him further, Thor merely goes back to his reading.

 

Loki gawks at him before huffing and slumping down in his seat, all sense of pleasantness completely gone.

 

It is after his fourth sigh of irritation that Thor finally looks up at him, and Loki is quick to correct his posture at the king’s thoroughly unimpressed visage. “Is something wrong?” Loki freezes, pondering how to answer when Thor condescendingly adds, “Is there something on your mind?”

 

“Bed,” Loki snaps angrily before thinking. Thor looks as surprised as he is, but as soon as Thor’s stare evolves into a leer, Loki urgently adds, “My bed! Where I sleep — alone!”

 

Thor looks as if he wants to say something suggestive, but then he sighs and smiles at Loki. “Forgive me if I’ve disturbed your sleep.”

 

Much to his dismay, Loki finds himself pleased with finally having Thor’s attention, though he is not exactly sure why. “I was awake,” he mutters.

 

Thor’s face then softens considerably. “Did Ullr treat you well?” At Loki’s furrowed brows, he explains, “The messenger who brought you here.”

 

Loki’s brows furrow even deeper. “Yes, he was fine –“ Loki cuts himself off, watching with wide eyes as Thor abruptly stands and begins to walk around the desk. It is only when Thor is inches away from his chair that Loki jumps to his feet and nearly stumbles back in his haste to further the distance between them.

 

But that does not stop Thor from curving his hand around the nape of Loki’s neck in a gentle yet firm grip, just as he did in the weapons vault when Loki needed to be calmed down.

 

Loki struggles to keep his expression neutral as Thor’s touch sends a small shiver down his spine, but he knows he has failed when Thor’s lips quirk up for a mere second. “I wanted to thank you, Loki, for what you did the other night.”

 

“For pointing out the obvious?” Loki asks dryly.

 

“For aiding in the capture of Asgard’s latest traitor,” Thor corrects, firmly but fondly.

 

“Latest one that you know about, you mean,” Loki says, in order to bask in the irony. Thor snorts. “Besides, I heard that he turned himself in?”

 

Thor’s hand slips away from him as his expression darkens, and Loki finally figures out why he is really here: Thor is upset, and like the messenger said, he truly does seek Loki’s council.

 

Perhaps he should be angry about being called in so late and at the king’s whim, and a part of him is; but Loki also feels something akin to pleasure flood through his veins. King Thor of Asgard, the highest being in the nine realms, confiding in Loki of Jotunheim — it is nothing short of madness.

 

For the first time since being imprisoned, Loki feels almost powerful.

 

While he still does not want to be queen, he knows that he would be a fool to not play this card that the Norns have gifted him with. If anything, he may get another chance to defend his people from Tyr, not to mention any other bloodthirsty vultures whispering in Thor’s ears.

 

Another faint shiver runs down his spine at the thrill of it all.

 

Squaring his shoulders, he looks Thor bravely in the eyes and asks softly, “What troubles you, my king?”

 

Thor looks at him for a long moment, as if searching for something, and Loki wills himself to remain stoic. Eventually, Thor moves away from him to walk about the room. “He turned himself in.”

 

Loki watches him closely, alert and silent.

 

“He is a lunatic,” Thor hisses, anger clouding his features. “He wanted to draw Jotnar into the vault just to kill them, he said.” Thor growls a little in frustration before halting in his tracks and looking to Loki. “Does none of this seem strange to you?”

 

Loki thinks about it a moment. “Well, yes.” Thor’s eyes narrow, and Loki rushes to clarify, “I meant, yes, it does seem strange.” Despite his aggravation, Thor briefly looks pleased at Loki agreeing with him; Loki barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Hatred for the Jotnar or not, why would he just turn himself in?”

 

And now Thor looks almost excited. “Exactly!”

 

“I understand that he’s trying to prove a point, perhaps even start some kind of revolution, but I would never just give up my life for…” Loki trails off. “He’s a fall man.”

 

“Yes, he… what?”

 

And now Loki is getting excited, he realizes with annoyance; but he decides to leave his regrets for the morning hours. “What was he like?” Loki asks. “When you interrogated him, I mean. How did he act?”

 

“Insane,” Thor answers bluntly. “It was as if he was talking to himself part of the time, like we weren’t even there.”

 

“What he did would have taken months of meticulous planning, though. Did he seem sane enough to have been able to pull off something like that?”

 

Thor pauses. “…No. He did not.”

 

“Then he’s a fall man,” Loki says with bright eyes. “He may have been in on this, might have even been the one to perform the spell; but there’s no way that he is the one in charge.”

 

“So he's working for someone else?”

 

Loki nods. “Whoever is responsible for this probably still lurks your halls, your majesty, and convincing this insane, spiteful man to turn himself in for some sort greater cause, or what have you, is just his way of hiding for a bit longer. Now that I think about it, he probably has more of these men at his fingertips — the mentally unstable sort, who can easily be bended to his will, even if it requires them to die for this so-called cause.” Loki furrows his brows at Thor. “Have your advisors really not thought of this already?”

 

Thor sighs, beginning to pace again. It suddenly hits Loki that he is prone to doing the same thing, and when Thor is not looking he scowls at himself for having something in common with this oaf. “We’ve spoken about it, of course; but they don't see it, and are content with the traitor’s confession.”

 

Loki idly steps over to one of the tables against the wall and looks at the numerous maps strewn across it. “Maybe they just don’t want to see,” Loki suggests faintly as he realizes that the maps are all of Svartalfheim. “What we’re talking about is a huge conspiracy, after all.”

 

Thor hums, and Loki turns away from the table.

 

“I mean, this guard accomplished the unthinkable, and supposedly by himself, which has to be absolutely mortifying for all of you –“

 

Thor halts and looks at him sharply, and Loki holds his hands up in a placating fashion. “All I meant was that it would be harder for them to accept being fooled by more than one person — but not you. Clearly.”

 

Loki holds his breath until Thor relaxes. “You’re right.”

 

“Of course,” Loki accidentally lets slip. As Thor smirks and moves towards him, Loki finds his own body moving away until his back hits one of the doors. “I only meant –“

 

“I know what you meant,” Thor says, now standing only a few inches from him. “Your arrogance is astounding,” he then goes on to observe, as casual as one would talk about the weather.

 

“ _My_ arrogance?” Loki cries.

 

Thor barks out a laugh, causing Loki to seethe. “I am the king of Asgard!” Thor exclaims. “I have every right to be arrogant.”

 

Loki draws himself up as straight as he can. “And I am Loki!”

 

Admittedly, it sounded better in his head.

 

Thor lets out another laugh, but he quickly smiles down at Loki thoughtfully. “Yes, yes you are. And you give wise council, Loki… better than most of my advisors, it seems.”

 

“I try,” Loki deadpans. When Thor starts to lean a little closer, Loki quickly asks, “What’s going to happen to the traitor now? …If you don’t mind my asking.”

 

“He will be executed.”

 

The way Thor says it, so matter-of-factly, takes Loki’s breath away — and not in a good way. He wonders if Thor would sound that calm if Loki were the one being executed.

 

Misunderstanding Loki’s silence, Thor smiles kindly and stresses, “You have nothing to fear, Loki. We are going to great lengths to ensure that something like this can never happen again.”

 

Loki laughs bitterly. “Oh really?”

 

Thor frowns. “Really.”

 

Loki cannot stop his sarcasm. “You might want to start with an overall increase of security. Also, better advisors.”

 

Thor chuckles lowly this time, his gaze turning more and more inappropriate. “That sharp tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble someday, little sorcerer.”

 

“It already has,” Loki mutters to himself.

 

Thor’s eyes drop to Loki’s chest, and one of his large hands reaches up to lightly finger at the soft fabric just below Loki’s collarbone. “Green suits you, by the way.”

 

As Loki grasps for words, Thor uses that time to rake his eyes up and down the rest of Loki’s body, settling on his feet for a moment before returning to Loki’s face. He smirks. “Nice slippers.”

 

To his horror, Loki can feel his face burning, so he tries to cover it up by giving Thor a bright, obviously false smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with, your majesty?”

 

Thor does not answer, and Loki lets out a humiliating, high-pitched yelp as Thor’s hand drops from his robe and slithers behind Loki’s body.

 

But Thor does not touch him, and instead grasps the door handle and opens it just enough for a sliver of the hallway’s light to shine through. “You are excused.” His face softens again, and Loki wants to scream in frustration because he does not understand what that look means. “And remember, you have nothing to fear. No matter what happens, you are safe, Loki. You are under my protection now.”

 

Loki, not yet knowing the meaning behind those words, furrows his brows in confusion. “…Thank you?”

 

“Just try to behave,” Thor adds with a roguish grin, and Loki glares at him as he carefully walks backwards out of the room and bows half-heartedly.

 

“I will call for you if further council is needed,” Thor adds lightly, and closes the door before Loki can reply.

 

“But I didn’t –“ Loki starts, before closing his mouth in defeat. He then lets out a loud, childish groan of frustration, uncaring if Thor hears, but the king must because Loki hears him laughing from within his study immediately after.

 

Instead of waiting for Ullr, Loki spins on his heel and stalks away, forcing the poor messenger to hurry after him.

 

“The nerve of him,” Loki mutters angrily. “The sheer _nerve_!”

 

Ullr gulps and, again, wisely says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhh this will all make sense someday, I swear. I really am going somewhere with all of this. The next chapter in particular is very, very important for Loki.
> 
> And Loki+slippers belongs everywhere, even in AU fics. Thank you, dear fandom.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for thoughts of suicide and references to torture.

“It’s about time,” Amora sneers when Loki walks into the kitchen.

 

Too sleepy for sarcasm, Loki merely yawns in response and walks over to the breakfast options laid out on the bar. Not feeling overly hungry, he pours himself a glass of juice and grabs an orange before sitting down at the table, next to Sigyn and across from Amora and Lorelei.

 

For the past few nights, his sleep has not been hindered by nightmares, for a change, but by thoughts of King Thor — specifically, King Thor demanding his council.

 

He is still not sure what he thinks about it, exactly, but he is beginning to wonder how he can use this to help Jotunheim. He already successfully diverted Thor’s attention off of his brothers when Tyr tried to blame them for the weapons vault break-in, which makes Loki dream of what else he can accomplish by being an unofficial advisor to the king. He is trying not to let himself get his hopes up about anything, but he wants to be ready to take advantage of the next opportunity the king gives him.

 

If the king does decide to call upon him again, that is.

 

“Remind me: why do we come to breakfast this early?” Loki asks after blinking a few times.

 

“To avoid Glut and her clones,” Sigyn reminds him.

 

Loki blinks again. “Oh, right.” He then begins the process of peeling his orange with his fingernails.

 

“I’m not in the mood to learn today,” Lorelei whines.

 

“I’m just sick of Svartalfheim,” Amora says, and Sigyn nods in agreement.

 

“Don’t forget Vanaheim,” Loki says, before pausing to lick his fingers. “And Alfheim, and Muspelheim, and Nidavellir, and even bloody Midgard –“

 

“Good morning!” Balder calls cheerily as he strides into the room.

 

“Morning,” they all respond as politely as possible, pretending like they were not just complaining.

 

As Balder is fixing his plate, Lorelei leans in and whispers, “I want to learn about sex!”

 

“Lorelei!” Sigyn hisses, looking over at Balder in horror.

 

Thankfully, the now-whistling Balder has his eyes on the breakfast options and does not look as if he heard them.

 

“I’m starting to wonder if they lied to us,” Amora says conspiratorially. “Maybe the king has a fetish for _naïve_ virgins –“

 

“Amora!” Sigyn gasps, and Loki starts tearing at his fruit with more force than necessary.

 

“Look, all I’m saying is that maybe they aren’t going to really teach us anything.“

 

“But they have to!” Lorelei exclaims loudly.

 

“Have to what?” Balder asks, pulling up a chair beside Loki and sending him a sweet smile before looking to Lorelei.

 

The others glare at Lorelei, who briefly looks apologetic before her face sets in determination. “I don’t care,” she tells her peers. “I am _not_ going to be embarrassed about asking!”

 

“Asking what?” Balder presses kindly, and Sigyn buries her face in her hands.

 

And then Skadi walks in. “What are we talking about?”

 

“Lorelei was about to ask me something,” Balder informs her.

 

Skadi takes one look at Loki’s plight and hurries to grab a knife for him. “You’re going to ruin your nails!” she scolds. “Not to mention it’s rude and improper to eat like that in the company of others.”

 

“Who cares,” Loki mumbles childishly, but he accepts the knife she hands him without any actual protest and begins cutting the orange into large slices.

 

Balder ignores them. “What were you going to ask, Lorelei?”

 

“When are we going to learn about sex?”

 

Sigyn groans, and Skadi snorts from where she is piling breakfast meats onto her plate.

 

Balder looks briefly surprised at Lorelei’s bluntness, though he does not seem offended as he replies, “Well, we were thinking of starting around the ninth month –“

 

“That’s _ages_ from now!” Lorelei cries.

 

“It is less than four months away,” Balder corrects her with an amused look.

 

“But we need more time to learn how to pleasure King Thor,” Amora argues, and just like that the knife goes flying out of Loki’s hand and clatters onto the floor.

 

He feels his face warming, and so before the others can turn to look at him, Loki hurriedly slips out of his chair and ducks down under the table to retrieve the knife. He takes his time looking for it, however, begging his natural pallor to return to him as he does so. He thinks he hears Skadi snort again.

 

It is too early to think about pleasuring King Thor, Loki thinks with a growl, before retracting his mental statement and deciding that no time is appropriate for thinking about pleasuring King Thor.

 

And he desperately wishes that he had never heard ‘King Thor’ and ‘fetish’ in the same sentence.

 

“Gross,” he mouths silently, and then shudders for good measure.

 

“Ladies, please,” Balder says. “The time for such education will arrive before you know it. Besides, we’re still not done with our studies of history, politics, strategy –“

 

Lorelei gives a pronounced yawn, but Balder chuckles and takes it in stride.

 

“What _are_ we learning about today, Balder?” Sigyn asks.

 

“We’re all getting tired of Svartalfheim,” Loki tells him honestly, coming back up for air in time to see Skadi take the empty seat between Balder and Lorelei.

 

Balder grins. “You’re in luck, then, because today we’re going to start on something new — another realm.”

 

Back in his chair, Loki raises his eyebrows expectantly as he brings his drink to his lips.

 

Seconds later it hits him, and he swallows slowly and painfully as he shakily sets down his glass.

 

“Which one?” Sigyn asks, and by the looks on Amora and Lorelei’s faces, they also have not figured it out yet.

 

“Guess,” Balder says gleefully.

 

“Nornheim?” Amora asks.

 

“That’s a providence, not a realm,” Lorelei says haughtily, and Amora scowls at her.

 

“Niflheim?” Sigyn asks with furrowed brows.

 

Balder shakes his head. “Do none of you really –“

 

“Jotunheim.”

 

They all look at Loki. “It’s Jotunheim,” he repeats softly, and then braces himself.

 

“Jotunheim?” Sigyn asks, wrinkling her nose.

 

“I’d rather learn about Nornheim,” Amora says, crossing her arms.

 

“I’d still rather learn about sex,” Lorelei says with a pout.

 

Loki bites his lip before concentrating on another orange slice, refusing to look up at anyone.

 

“Did you just say Jotunheim?” Glut asks, walking into the kitchen. Following her are Eisa and Einmyria, her closest friends who have proved to be almost as horrible as the girl they fawn over, in Loki’s opinion. They are sisters, much like Amora and Lorelei, except they are completely different in Loki’s eyes because he actually likes Amora and Lorelei, even if only begrudgingly.

 

“What do we need to learn about Frost Giants that we don’t already know?” Eisa asks, and Loki sinks his teeth into more fruit to keep from responding.

 

“Considering the general Aesir public knows next to nothing factual about the Jotnar… how about everything?” Skadi deadpans.

 

“Loki, are you all right?” Balder asks quietly from beside him.

 

Loki nods and gives Balder the most convincing smile he can before finishing up the last of his fruit.

 

“Well, I _do_ love hearing about how Asgard nearly annihilated those monsters,” Einmyria says, snickering.

 

Not wanting to hear anyone’s response, Loki abruptly stands from the table. “I’m going to bathe,” he tells them, and goes to throw his scraps of orange away.

 

Sigyn, Amora, and Lorelei all stand to follow him without a word.

 

“Take your juice with you,” Skadi instructs, holding his cup out to him. Loki takes it without arguing and hurries out of the room just as she and Balder begin scolding Einmyria.

 

Loki walks a little ahead of his friends on their way to the bathhouse, uncaring if they notice his odd behavior. He knew this day would come, and has had months to prepare for it. Balder and Skadi will teach biased, less than factual information about his people, and the other youth will react accordingly, deeming the Jotnar vicious, mindless beasts who deserve to die of starvation. It will be nothing he has not heard before.

 

He will be fine.

 

* * *

  

“To start with, I want any of you who are willing to tell me one thing you know about Jotunheim or its inhabitants,” Balder begins.

 

“It’s cold,” one girl says simply, and then many of them begin speaking at once.

 

“Frost Giants are ugly.”

 

“They are fifteen — no, twenty feet tall!”

 

“They’re all male.”

 

“They are ergi.”

 

“Their speech is barbaric, and they can’t read or write.”

 

“They’re cannibals, and they sacrifice children.”

 

“They vow to destroy us someday!”

 

“They are evil.”

 

Loki closes his eyes.

 

“Only the first answer I received is correct,” Balder says after a long moment, before murmuring to Skadi, “It’s even worse than I thought.”

 

“What about you, Loki?” Skadi prompts, and Loki’s eyes fly open.

 

He only has to think about it for a few seconds, before, “They live in poverty, and are starving.”

 

“Correct,” Balder affirms sadly. “In fact, out of the largely populated realms, Jotunheim is the poorest. Can anyone tell me why?”

 

“Because there is no sunlight there, and no plants grow?” one girl suggests.

 

“They aren’t advanced enough to feed their entire population?” another guesses.

 

“Asgard has the Casket.”

 

“Right again, Loki,” Balder says proudly, and Loki ignores the looks being sent his way as he looks down at his lap again.

 

“The Casket of Ancient Winters? I thought that was just a weapon,” Sigyn says.

 

“Oh, it is much more than that. The Casket is their life force, made by the hands of Ymir himself. It has been used by the royal line to control the ice, to create and to build and, when necessary, to destroy. When it was taken, the realm fell into darkness… and despite their laboring, Jotunheim has never recovered from its loss, nor from the many other horrors brought by the Great War.”

 

Balder briefly pauses before smiling. “But before we talk about the war, let’s start at an earlier time in history, when things between Asgard and Jotunheim were not so troubled…”

  

* * *

 

“You were weird in class today, Loki,” Amora informs him as they lounge around their suite’s living room that night.

 

“Weirder than usual, even,” Lorelei agrees.

 

Loki shrugs and does not look up from the book in his lap.

 

“Is everything all right?” Sigyn tries, sounding concerned.

 

“I…  don’t really care for racism.”

 

He hesitantly looks up, only to find the three girls looking back at him in confusion. “Racism?” Lorelei finally echoes.

 

“The hatred many Aesir have for the Jotnar,” Loki clarifies. “Granted, most of it is borne from ignorance, but that does not excuse it.”

 

When Amora and Lorelei just stare at him, Loki looks to Sigyn in hopes that she of all people will understand; but Sigyn seems just as perplexed as the other two.

 

“Never mind,” Loki mumbles, looking away.

 

Sigyn sighs. “We just –“

 

“Forget I said anything.” A few moments later, Loki closes his book and rises from his chair. “I’m going to bed.”

 

“Loki, don’t be like that,” Amora starts, but Loki shakes his head.

 

“No, it’s… I’m just tired.” He sends them a quick smile. “Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight,” they all respond warily, but Loki does not grace them with another look before closing himself in his bedroom.

 

He stays awake reading as long as his eyelids will allow, hoping that once he does succumb to sleep, he will be too exhausted to remember his dreams.

 

But when he wakes the next morning, the Casket’s song is still playing freshly in his mind.

  

* * *

  

“I wish to postpone the trial.”

 

Tyr blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“I said I –“

 

“We have already gone over this,” Tyr reminds him from where he is seated across from Thor in the king’s study, his smile stretched too wide to be natural. “We have the traitor locked in a cell, his confession lines up… why wait?”

 

“Because I’m not satisfied,” Thor says simply. “I think he might be working for someone else.”

 

Tyr’s smile falters. “My king, there is no evidence –“

 

“It matters not. I want him interrogated again, this time focusing more on the possible involvement of others.”

 

“But I already questioned him about that –“

 

“Tyr,” Thor interrupts firmly. “You will do this.”

 

And Thor sees it, sees the battle waging in Tyr’s eyes, the temptation to fight; but his head advisor eventually softens and complies, like he always does. “Yes, I shall,” he replies with dull eyes and a thin-lipped smile.

 

“Good.” Thor gives a false smile of his own. “Go now… and do whatever you feel is necessary.”

 

Just like that, the fire is back in Tyr’s eyes; and not for the first time is Thor thankful that Tyr is with him, and not against him. “Thank you, my king,” Tyr says, and the grin that follows is a sadistic one.

 

Thor drops his smile as soon as Tyr leaves and, also not for the first time, wonders if he is doing the right thing.

 

* * *

  

When their lectures on Jotunheim began, Loki was afraid.

 

Afraid of giving himself away, of what lies Balder and Skadi might teach, and of what sickening comments his fellow youth would most likely say about his people.

 

Now, a few days later, he feels nothing but rage.

 

Balder and Skadi have done fairly well, all things considered. Some of what they have taught is biased or outdated information, but most of it is factual and surprisingly fair. And not only have they slowly been working through each misconception and stereotype that the other girls have voiced, they are also quick to shoot down any unfounded contributions and hateful comments, both of which Loki appreciates.

 

Honestly, they have surpassed his expectations.

 

But some of the girls, however, are more vicious in their hatred and mocking than even Loki thought possible. The jokes that were made after Balder spoke about Jotnar biology and their mating process, despite the fact that he only glossed over the basics of it all, were particularly humiliating to Loki; it briefly made him feel ashamed of his body and his nature, which only made him even angrier.

 

If they only knew that one of the hideous, evil monsters their elders have taught them to hate so much was sitting among them now. A part of Loki almost wishes he could show them his true form, just to see the sheer terror on their faces.

 

“Can anyone tell me what the Great War was initially about?” Balder asks.

 

Despite the earlier disinterest and/or revulsion expressed by everyone except Loki, all of the youth are now leaning forward in their seats, eager to hear what Balder has to say — all but Loki, of course, who is slumped down in his chair and glaring out the window.

 

“The Frost Giants wanted to take over Midgard, right?” Eisa asks.

 

“Yes, they wanted to kill all the mortals and take over their land,” Einmyria states.

 

Loki wants to set them on fire. Or more fittingly, freeze them to death.

 

“Not exactly,” Balder says. “They wanted to cultivate some of the rich, fertile lands on Midgard; they weren’t trying to take over the entire realm or commit genocide, as far as I’m aware. But do any of you know why Asgard interfered?”

 

“The All-Father wanted to protect the mortals from those savages, of course,” Glut says proudly.

 

“Oh, please,” Loki cannot help but snap, rolling his eyes.

 

Everyone turns to look at him.

 

“It has nothing to do with the _poor_ , _fragile_ mortals,” Loki continues. “The All-Father would be a fool to let one realm plant large settlements on another, no matter what might become of it.”

 

Skadi eyes him with interest. “What do you mean?”

 

“Part of being the unofficial ruler of the nine realms is looking the part, is it not? The All-Father can’t let any of the other realms gain too much power, or even look like they could. Only Asgard can be allowed to do what Jotunheim attempted.”

 

“Are you saying that the All-Father didn’t care about the lives that could have been taken?” Balder asks. “Or that any king or queen cannot?”

 

Loki sighs. “No. All I’m saying is that, in a realm like Asgard, politics will always come before the wellbeing of the people, no matter who is king or queen. It is a fact.”

 

“You may be right,” Balder says after a moment. “But I hope you’re wrong.” He then continues talking as if Loki had never spoken.

 

A few girls still glance at Loki every now and then, but this time Loki keeps his eyes on Balder and his expression neutral, and pretends as if everything is fine.

  

* * *

  

“Thor, you haven’t been out drinking with us in ages!” Fandral exclaims late in the afternoon after court is finally dismissed.

 

Having listened to several farmers’ petitions and complaints ever since that morning — and with no progress concerning the traitor to ease his anxiety — Thor is exhausted and irritated and in no mood to indulge his frivolous friend. “I know, and I would love to, truly, but –“

 

“Come on!” Fandral slings an arm around Thor’s shoulder and winks. “Drinks on me! I insist.”

 

“Fandral –“

 

“Besides, we have not properly celebrated the traitor’s impending execution yet!” Fandral suddenly frowns, puzzled. “Speaking of, when _is_ the –“

 

“Well, if you insist.”

 

Which is how Thor finds himself unhappily sandwiched between Sif and Fandral at one of their favorite taverns, watching as Hogun and Volstagg hold a drinking competition across the table from them by downing tankard after tankard of some of the strongest mead in Asgard.

 

“My money’s on Volstagg,” Fandral announces, and the giggling prostitute on his lap agrees.

 

“Please, Hogun can drink us _all_ under the table,” Sif argues, before sending Thor a sly smile. “Even you, Thor.”

 

They all look at Thor, expecting him to react to the claim made against him, but instead he frowns into his tankard and says nothing.

 

“Give us a moment, won’t you, darling?” Fandral murmurs to his current paramour, and Thor looks up to see him squeeze one of her pale, generous thighs.

 

The woman pouts ruby red lips at him, but Fandral whispers undoubtedly wicked promises in her ear until she relents and stands to leave. He gives her a playful slap on her rump to send her off and grins at the resulting blush and giggle he receives as she all but bounces away.

 

Thor watches the entire exchange with equal parts disgust and longing, both of which confuse him greatly.

 

Normally he would laugh, even admire his friend’s prowess with women — after all, it is said that only Fandral the Dashing can make a woman of the night blush as if she were a young maiden.

 

But instead Thor sees fit to glower at his drink. It is almost as if he is jealous; but no, Thor thinks, that cannot be right. He has no need to be jealous.

 

There is nothing to be jealous of.

 

“Come now, Thor,” Fandral reprimands. “Why the long face?”

 

“It is nothing,” Thor replies brusquely.

 

“It’s clearly something,” Sif argues from his other side.

 

“Was it the woman?” Fandral asks, before grinning. “Honestly, Thor, you only have a little over six months of celibacy left! Then you can choose which pretty little thing from your harem you’d like to have perched on _your_ lap.”

 

Suddenly, Thor’s mind conjures up a picture of Loki, perched on his lap just as Fandral said, giggling and blushing as Thor whispers in his ear.

 

The thought is not an unpleasant one, to say the least, but Thor has a strong feeling that Loki would more than likely respond with sharp, cruel words — and possibly even his fingernails — were Thor to pull him down onto his lap and hold him there by his slender waist, like a prickly cat who does not want to be held.

 

Thor is not sure what it says about him that he finds the second scenario just as appealing as the first.

 

“Which one are you thinking about?” Fandral inquires, before clapping his hands together in glee. “No, wait! Let me guess.”

 

“Fandral…”

 

“Could it be… the boy?”

 

Thor looks up at him sharply. “ _Stop_.”

 

“Fandral,” Sif chides half-heartedly, before looking at Thor with concern. “Thor, please… what’s bothering you?“

 

“It’s the traitor,” Thor mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.

 

Fandral and Sif both furrow their brows in response.

 

“You desire the traitor on your lap?” Fandral asks slowly.

 

“Even now Tyr can get nothing out of him –“

 

“What? I thought the interrogations were over,” Sif interjects.

 

Thor pauses for a long moment, deep in thought, and Fandral and Sif await his next words with bated breath.

 

“I should take Loki to see him.”

 

“Loki?” they both echo.

 

Thor nods, completely in his own world now. “Yes, Loki should talk to him.”

 

“Who is Loki?” Fandral demands.

 

“After all, he’s the only one who shared my unease, the only one who truly _listened_ to me –“

 

“Giving up already?” Volstagg bellows, patting his rotund belly with an uneven laugh.

 

“Never,” Hogun swears, and reaches for another tankard with mostly steady hands.

 

“Maybe if we interrogate him together, we will find something…”

 

“What are you _talking_ about?” Fandral cries, exasperated, but Thor continues to ignore him and jumps to his feet.

 

“Yes, that should work.” Finally, Thor remembers his friends and grins down at them. “Now’s neither the time nor the place, but I promise to fill you both in eventually.”

 

“You do that,” Sif intones, and she and Fandral look at Thor as if he is insane.

 

Thor beams right back at them. “Right.”

 

He is halfway out of the tavern before he remembers the drinking competition. Unable to help himself, he pushes through the crowd of people again and returns to their table in the corner, dropping several coins onto the table. “I almost forgot: money’s on Hogun.”

 

“Hey!” Volstagg yells after him, followed by several curses, but Thor continues to smile as he makes it outside and begins his walk back to the palace.

 

Truthfully, Thor has considered calling upon Loki’s services for the past couple of days now; but each time he came close to summoning Ullr, he ended up hesitating, for reasons he knows not.

 

Perhaps the mead has finally given him the courage — never mind that he did not even finish his first tankard of it. But then again, he is the king of Asgard, and one of the most legendary warriors in the history of the nine realms; if there is one thing he does not lack, it is courage.

 

Thor tells himself that it is the mead and the excitement of getting somewhere with the traitor — not seeing Loki — that has his heart racing.

 

* * *

  

“I think I’m pruning,” Lorelei says, sticking her hand out of the water and squinting at her outstretched fingers. “Am I beginning to prune?”

 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Loki drawls, and gets a half-hearted splash for it.

 

“My skin is starting to wrinkle, too,” Amora says, scrunching her nose in distaste. “Let’s go.”

 

Sigyn is the first one to notice that Loki did not climb out after them. “Loki, aren’t you coming?”

 

Loki looks around and sees the other girls slowly trickling out of the bathhouse before giving Sigyn a small smile. “Not yet.”

 

“Do you… if you want, I could wait with you?“

 

“No, you go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

 

Sigyn lingers for a moment, but ultimately acquiesces with another firm nod from Loki.

 

Once he is alone, Loki lets his mask of indifference drop as he sinks against the stone bench lining the inside of the pool and covers his mouth with one hand.

 

He thought it would be easy. He has heard worse coming from all kinds of people in the southeast market, after all, including threats of violence as people would describe what they would do to a Jotun if they got their hands on one. But hearing it from his peers, some of which he was actually beginning to tolerate, is all too much.

 

Even Sigyn, Amora, and Lorelei look at him strangely whenever he defends the Jotnar; and that, he finds, hurts most of all.

 

It takes Loki a few seconds to realize that he has started crying, tears streaming down his already wet face and stinging his eyes in their wake.

 

He wants to go home — to the cottage, Jotunheim; anywhere but here, really. He wants his uncle, too, but he has not seen Angrboda since the day after the weapons vault was broken into. It was the last time Loki broke down, weeping against his uncle’s chest as Angrboda held him safely in his arms.

 

Loki wraps his own arms around himself and tries to keep from shaking. “I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers to himself. “I can’t…”

 

Closing his eyes, he pulls legs up onto the bench and buries his face in his knees, forcing himself to take deep breaths to try and still the panic rising inside of him.

 

It takes a while, but eventually his anxiety begins to fade until Loki is staring numbly at the tranquil waters, his body completely still except for whenever his sore eyes are compelled to blink.

 

It would be so easy, he thinks.

 

He imagines slipping beneath the water and staying there, letting his lungs fill with water until his vision blackens. Or even easier, he could grab a pair of scissors, or a knife from the kitchen — anything sharp enough — and let the blood from his wrists color the water a beautiful red, similar to the shade of his Jotun eyes.

 

It is not the first time that he wonders if his death would force Angrboda back into Jotunheim, where he belongs. Where he would be safe, away from Tyr and the rest of Asgard.

 

Away from Loki.

 

As soon as he realizes just what it is he is thinking about, he immediately banishes such thoughts from the forefront of his mind, as he always does, and proceeds to climb out of the water. Unfortunately, Skadi chooses that moment to walk in and corners him just as he is halfway out of the bathhouse.

 

“Is that how you would rule?” Skadi asks without preamble.

 

Loki sighs. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You know what I’m talking about.”

 

And Loki does. He knew his comments about politics coming before people would come back to haunt him, but he was hoping for at least another day before Skadi or Balder confronted him about it.

 

With a roll of his eyes, he walks past her and starts towards the stack of towels near the entrance. “Skadi, our classes are over for today. I am cold and wet, and I don’t want to discuss –“

 

“Do you really care for your people that little?”

 

Something about the way she says it, slowly and deliberately, has Loki coming to a sudden halt, and for a few seconds he is unable to breathe. “What?” He slowly looks over his shoulder at Skadi. “What did you just say to me?”

 

Then, before she can answer, his face morphs into an expression that makes even Skadi take a step back. “You know _nothing_!”

 

“Loki –“

 

“I am cruel and prideful and _selfish_!” Loki yells. “Or have you forgotten?”

 

“You are more than that,” Skadi reminds him.

 

She is different than the last time they had this discussion, calmer and more sure of herself. It just makes Loki want to lash out even more, seeing her keep control while he is steadily losing what little bit of it he still possessed.

 

“Perhaps I’m not really the _compassionate_ person you think I am,” he snarls, teeth bared and eyes flashing in rage.

 

“ _What_ is going on in here?!” Balder demands, rushing into the room. “I could hear Loki shouting from down the hall!”

 

Loki pushes past him and heads towards the towels again.

 

“Loki!” Balder calls, and it is the closest Balder has ever come to actually yelling at him.

 

“ _What_?” Loki screams, furiously wrapping a towel around his waist.

 

When he finally looks up, Balder is staring at him as if he is a stranger.

 

And then a throat clears, and they look over to see Ullr standing in the doorway, red-faced and fidgeting and looking more awkward than Loki ever thought possible. “I, um… my lord, my lady… I’m sorry to interrupt –“

 

Skadi sighs impatiently. “Spit it out.”

 

“King Thor requests Loki’s presence again.” He looks anywhere but directly at Loki’s nearly nude form.

 

“King Thor has the worst timing,” Balder snaps.

 

Loki looks at all three of them, and then down at himself before bursting into laughter.

 

“Loki?” Balder questions warily.

 

“That’s it, he’s officially lost it,” Skadi mutters.

 

“Do none of you find this utterly hilarious?” Loki asks between giggles.

 

Skadi glares, Balder’s frown deepens, and Ullr looks downright terrified of him again.

 

“Tell me, Ullr,” Loki purrs, and delights in the comical widening of the messenger’s eyes, as if he has just remembered that Loki is half-naked, “for what purpose does our _exalted_ king need me?”

 

“Loki,” Skadi warns.

 

“What?” Loki cries in defense. “It’s a valid question! It’s not even midnight yet.”

 

“The king did not tell me,” Ullr confesses. “Though he says it is most –“

 

“Dire?” Loki guesses in a bored tone, though he curses inwardly at the excitement building in his gut.

 

“Stop it, Loki,” Skadi orders.

 

“That was the word he used, yes,” Ullr supplies, and Loki smirks.

 

“Give me five minutes, then.”

 

“But your hair!” Skadi cries.

 

“What about it?”

 

“It needs time to dry,” she grinds out. Loki is not sure if she has ever looked more outraged.

 

“He’s seen me look worse,” Loki reminds her. “Besides, it’s not my fault he interrupted my bath,” he adds, ignoring the fact that he was technically finished bathing.

 

Ullr clears his throat again. “He… he also requests for you to bring your cloak.”

 

“Why?” Loki asks. “It’s too warm for a cloak now.”

 

“He did not say…”

 

“Ullr, go wait in the main hall,” Balder instructs. “We will be with you shortly.”

 

Relief flooding his face, Ullr all but runs out of the room.

 

“Sigyn and the others will wonder where I am,” Loki points out as he walks into the bathhouse antechamber and begins pulling on the clothes he was wearing earlier.

 

“We will cover for you,” Skadi ensures, before taking a comb to his hair and gently working through the wet tangles.

 

He has long since learned that this is how Skadi apologizes, through simple actions rather than kind words, and so he forces himself to relax as she works and tries to bury his rage for later.

 

Balder, meanwhile, leaves but quickly returns with Loki’s cloak and boots — and really, Loki could kiss him for not bringing his slippers — which he helps Loki into as Skadi finishes with his hair.

 

As they quickly groom him, Loki wonders about what the king must want this time. He cannot deny the glow of pride he feels at being called on for a third time — and much sooner than he imagined, too.

 

He hopes he is being brought back to the weapons vault, if only to see the Casket again.

 

Once dressed and looking presentable, they escort Loki to the main hall and threaten Ullr a little before sending the two of them off. “Don’t worry, they’re all bark and no bite,” Loki assures Ullr with a smug smile.

 

Ullr gulps audibly and does not reply.

 

Instead of taking him through the palace entrance closest to the harem, Ullr leads him around it, down some winding stairs and onto a faded dirt path running along the lower ground level. “Where are we meeting him?” Loki asks nervously, after they have turned a few sharp corners and now stand before a high, narrow, and very dark tunnel opening.

 

“Right here,” Thor announces, his towering form stepping out from the shadows.

 

Ullr jumps and lets out a startled cry, but Loki merely gives the king an unimpressed, eyebrows-raised stare and hopes that Thor cannot tell how fast his heart is currently beating.

 

“Ullr, wait here for us,” Thor says, though he has no eyes for the messenger as he intensely gazes upon Loki.

 

“Yes, your majesty.”

 

“Loki, if you please,” Thor says, holding out his hand like a gentleman. However, the visage is ruined by the roguish smirk on his face.

 

Loki sneers and walks straight past him, wordlessly refusing his outstretched hand. Thor follows after him with a chuckle.

 

It is not long into the tunnel before lit torches line the walls, allowing enough light for Thor and Loki to assess one another out of the corners of their eyes as they walk side by side.

 

“It’s too warm for this damned cloak,” Loki eventually complains, rolling up his sleeves to his forearms and then sighing when they fall back down to his wrists seconds later.

 

“You’ll need it where we’re going,” Thor says cryptically.

 

“And just where _are_ we going, anyway?”

 

“To the dungeons.”

 

Loki stumbles, but Thor is immediately at his side with a hand on his waist to steady him. Trying not to look frightened, Loki looks up at Thor and asks, “What? Why?”

 

“Do not be frightened,” Thor tells him. Loki scowls in response, but Thor just smiles at him. “We’re going to see the traitor.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I want us to interrogate him!” Thor exclaims, but his confidence seems to waver when Loki merely looks at him. “I, uh… I thought we… or, well, _you_ could speak to him, see if you can get him to tell us anything of importance.”

 

“Why me?” Loki finally asks with furrowed brows.

 

“You’re smart,” Thor answers, his tone defensive. “And good with words, and… you’re the only one besides me who is suspicious that more is going on than meets the eye.”

 

“…Right,” Loki eventually concedes. It makes sense, he supposes.

 

Then he realizes that Thor’s hand is still on his waist, so he pries it off and continues onward without another word, forcing Thor to follow him once again.

 

Of course, the peace between them only lasts so long.

 

“So, your hair.” Thor snickers, and Loki wants to punch him. “Did I interrupt a bath this time?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Loki answers coyly, and unsuccessfully stifles his laugh when it is the king of Asgard’s turn to stumble over his feet.

 

Thor glares at Loki for the blow to his pride, and they do not speak again until they come to the end of the tunnel and are granted entrance to back of the dungeons.

 

“This isn’t what I expected,” Loki accidentally admits aloud once they are inside, taking in the wide, almost blindingly white cells in awe and trepidation.

 

“Were you expecting steel bars?” Thor asks, amused.

 

“Well, more rats, at least,” Loki replies with a shrug.

 

“Oh, but there are plenty of those in here,” Thor says darkly, before unceremoniously flipping up Loki’s hood.

 

Loki splutters, “What are you –“

 

“Leave it,” Thor orders, and adjusts it further so that Loki’s face is mostly concealed in shadow. “You will thank me for it later.”

 

Loki pulls his cloak around him self-consciously and frowns, but he quickly understands Thor’s reasoning. Many of the prisoners stare at them openly as they walk, and Loki finds himself gravitating closer to Thor against his will after more than one prisoner looks at him with undisguised lust.

 

“Why do they look at me like that?” Loki questions softly. “They can barely even see my face. For all they know, I could be hideous!”

 

“Your cloak does little to hide your figure, though,” Thor informs him, “especially when you pull it so tightly around you like you’re doing now.”

 

Startled, Loki forces his hands to unclench from where his fingers are buried in the fabric, allowing his cloak to fall about him more naturally.

 

“All they see is a slender, supple body,” Thor continues absentmindedly, much to Loki’s horror. “Faces means little to them, though it would be far worse if they _could_ see your face, which is partly why I had you conceal yourself so.” He smiles over at Loki again. “It goes without saying that you’re the most attractive thing they’ve seen in a while.”

 

And now Loki is glad of his cloak for another reason, for he could feel the color blooming across his cheeks the moment Thor mentioned his figure, and it has only gotten worse since then. He ducks his head further and decides to not reply.

 

But then he hears a catcall, and Loki’s head jerks up in time to see a prisoner flick his tongue obscenely at him. “Do not look at them,” Thor orders, grabbing Loki’s wrist and pulling him closer to his side. “Just keep your eyes down until I say otherwise.”

 

Frightened and uncomfortable, Loki obeys without question.

 

Angry and suggestive shouts continue to follow them, however, which only unnerve Loki even further.

 

“They cannot escape,” Thor soothes when Loki flinches at the sound of yet another fist hitting the magical force shields holding them in their cells. “And even if they did, I would protect you with my life.”

 

“You’re the _king_ ,” Loki protests weakly, eyes still firmly on the ground. “Aren’t I supposed to risk my life protecting you?”

 

Thor barks out a laugh, and Loki finally glares up at him. “No, I’m not laughing at the thought of you protecting me,” Thor explains when he sees Loki’s expression. “I just…” he trails off, eyes searching Loki’s face for something, though Loki knows not what he seeks. Eventually, Loki shyly looks down again. “When I die and go to Valhalla, it will _not_ be because of a prison outbreak,” Thor finally finishes, ending with an awkward chuckle.

 

Loki smiles faintly but does not reply, and Thor squeezes his wrist tighter and continues to keep him close.

 

Eventually they enter through another set of doors, and Loki looks up as the guards leave them without a word. In front of them is a single cell, and while it is identical to the ones they have passed so far, the difference lies in the fact that there is only one inhabitant inside this one.

 

“Why does he have no cell mates?” Loki asks, looking to where the traitor is curled up on the floor in one corner of the cell, seemingly asleep. “And why is this cell in a separate room from the others?”

 

“Because he will be executed soon.”

 

“Oh, right,” Loki breathes, and carefully extracts his wrist from Thor’s grasp.

 

“Usually only those waiting to be executed are kept in here. And we don’t want him conversing with the other prisoners,” Thor adds, before grabbing Loki by the shoulders and turning him so they are completely facing each other. “Now listen to me very carefully,” he says lowly, and Loki finds himself already nodding. “He was a lower-level guard, and should not recognize you; but for own your safety, we most certainly do _not_ want him knowing who you are, so leave your hood up… and do not give him your name.”

 

“Then who am I, that I should question him?” Loki asks. “What makes you think he will speak to me?”

 

“He has had many interrogators, and will think you’re just another sorcerer under my command.”

 

“A sorcerer with bound magic,” Loki grumbles. “That should frighten him into complying, all right.”

 

Thor tightens his grip on Loki’s shoulders. “Quiet. Will you do this?”

 

“You bring me here for my words and then tell me to be quiet?”

 

“ _Loki_.”

 

“Fine, but you must follow my lead.”

 

“No, you must follow _my_ lead,” Thor says, and Loki’s glower deepens. “I will initiate the conversation and then hand the reigns over to you. But if I order you to stop a certain line of questioning, or to stop speaking all together, you will obey me. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Loki answers sourly.

 

“When I say we are to leave, you will follow me without a single word of defiance. And you must not get too close to the prisoner, either.”

 

Loki sighs. “Yes, yes.”

 

“Yes, what?” Thor presses.

 

“Yes, _sir_?” Loki asks incredulously, and Thor shakes his head, smirking. “Yes, your majesty?”

 

“Try again.” When Loki just looks confused, Thor says, “You said it once, the last time we spoke.”

 

Loki frowns, trying to jog his memory. And then, with a scowl, it hits him. “Yes, _my king_ ,” he says through gritted teeth.

 

Thor grins and squeezes his shoulders before turning him back to face the prisoner. “Now,” Thor whispers, a bit too closely in Loki’s ear, “follow me.”

 

Thor then releases him and marches up the steps and straight into the cell, and Loki’s eyes light up in curiosity at how the cell folds around him just enough to let him through before seeming to bounce back into place.

 

“Traitor,” Thor booms, and the traitor slowly comes to before quickly sitting up and moving until his back hits the corner. “I bring you a new guest.”

 

Thor then turns and holds out his hand to Loki, arm halfway out of the containment force shield. Warily, Loki walks up the steps and tentatively places his palm atop Thor’s; except for the way Thor curls his fingers around Loki’s hand, Loki does not feel a thing as he is pulled inside the cell.

 

The prisoner whimpers when Loki appears, and Loki looks at Thor questioningly. Thor gives him a significant look in return before narrowing his eyes at the prisoner again. “You will answer his questions, or else.”

 

As soon as Thor lets go of his hand, Loki slowly walks over to the where the prisoner is sitting. Stopping about five feet away from the hunched over form, Loki looks down at him for a long moment before his lips part to ask for the prisoner’s name.

 

But then he remembers the two Jotuns that were killed and decides that he does not want to know.

 

The prisoner looks up at him with wide, fearful eyes and whimpers again. “I am not here to hurt you,” Loki tells him.

 

“That’s what they all say,” the prisoner mumbles, and understanding dawns upon Loki.

 

He thinks about stalking over to Thor and demanding an explanation right then and there, but he has a job to do, so he reluctantly remains where he is and asks, “If they hurt you, then why not give them the answers they seek?”

 

“He won’t answer,” Thor mutters behind him. “He never does.”

 

Loki shoots him an annoyed look over his shoulder before turning back to the prisoner. Fortunately, the prisoner does not seem to have heard Thor, and is staring down at the floor with wide, unfocused eyes.

 

“Why not try to avoid the extra pain?” Loki tries again, dropping to his knees slowly and carefully so that he will not scare the prisoner.

 

When met with silence for the second time, he tries a new tactic. “What will happen if you tell them anything?”

 

“I’ll fail,” the prisoner finally says.

 

“What will you fail?”

 

“I won’t… he said…”

 

“What did he say?” Loki prompts gently.

 

“That I would go to Valhalla.”

 

“You would go to Valhalla if you… what? Sacrificed yourself?” Loki guesses. “Is that why you turned yourself in?”

 

The prisoner just nods in response, still looking at the floor.

 

Loki can hear Thor moving behind him, and so he quickly throws up a hand behind his back and gestures for him to wait.

 

“I suppose there’s no chance of you telling us who ‘he’ is,” Loki comments, and the prisoner does not respond. “Did you even perform the spell?”

 

The prisoner nods.

 

“Did he teach you how to do it?”

 

Another nod.

 

“Are there more of you?”

 

The prisoner does not answer.

 

“Why would you agree to help him when there are other ways to Valhall–“

 

“Because Frost Giants deserve death,” the prisoner says with a strange smile, finally glancing up at Loki.

 

Loki shivers at the look in his eyes. “You hate them so much that you would give up your life –“

 

“They deserve to die!” the prisoner suddenly screams, and Thor comes rushing over to them. “All of them!”

 

Thor grabs Loki underneath his arms and roughly pulls him to his feet, accidentally knocking his hood back in the process. He then steps firmly in front of Loki and starts, “Have care how you speak –“

 

“I’m insulted,” the prisoner interrupts, staggering to his feet as well. “You bring one of your whores in here –“

 

“You _dare_!” Thor shouts, and suddenly Mjolnir is in his hand. Loki tries to step further back, but Thor once again has his free hand wrapped almost painfully tight around Loki’s wrist, effectively keeping him near.

 

“We know who he is,” the prisoner spits, moving to the side in order to get a better look at Loki. “The ergi sorcerer they chained and muzzled for you –“

 

Thor lifts his hammer, but Loki is quick to jump in front of him. “No, stop!”

 

“Get out of the way, Loki,” Thor warns, his furious eyes never leaving the prisoner.

 

“Don’t do this,” Loki pleads, placing his free hand on Thor’s raised forearm without a thought.

 

“He has you wrapped around his finger already?” The prisoner chuckles cruelly. “I wonder just how many times you’ve fucked him –“

 

Thor roars at him and flings Loki aside, and Loki is barely able to catch his balance before colliding into the wall. “I should strike you down here in this cell for insulting him!”

 

“Thor!” Loki yells.

 

When Thor turns to him, eyes wide with shock and something else, Loki stares back in confusion until he realizes what he just said.

 

“Y-your majesty,” Loki uncharacteristically stutters, before squaring his shoulders and smoothing his features. “My king. He wants a proper execution. Do not deny him that.”

 

“But you heard what he said about you,” Thor hisses. Then, almost as if it is an afterthought, he adds, “And he killed four people!”

 

Loki smiles darkly. “Yes, but it will be so much sweeter to let him languish in this cell, dreaming of Valhalla until the time finally comes for his execution. Then he will die, and wake not in Valhalla — but in Hel.”

 

Thor stares at him, thoughtful, before matching Loki’s smile with one of his own; and it is a smile that reminds Loki that no matter how noble Thor may be to the Aesir, and despite his smiles and laughter, he is truly the warrior king that is praised and feared above all others, a ruthless killer who delights in demolishing his enemies.

 

Loki finds it terrifying and exhilarating in a way he has never felt before.

 

But just as the prisoner opens his mouth again, Mjolnir crashes into the side of his skull.

 

Loki gasps as the body unceremoniously slumps to the ground, but Thor is quick to stress, “I only knocked him unconscious. His more recent memory will be hazy, unfocused when he wakes.”

 

Loki says nothing as Thor reattaches Mjolnir to his belt before moving closer. “Are you all right?” he asks, placing one hand around Loki’s neck and the other at his waist.

 

“I… yes, I’m fine.”

 

“What he said,” Thor begins angrily, but Loki sighs.

 

“It’s fine.” Before he can help himself, he adds bitterly, “Besides, I’ve heard worse the past couple of days.”

 

“By whom?” Thor growls. “If someone is bothering you –“

 

“It’s not that serious,” Loki insists with an eye roll. “Some of the girls I live with aren’t very kind — that’s all.” He smirks up at Thor. “But I am just as mean to them in return.”

 

Thor smiles. “I believe it.”

 

When Loki’s eyes slide back to the prisoner, Thor’s face hardens. “Let’s go,” he says, releasing his hold on Loki in favor of grabbing his hand again.

 

“I don’t need you to hold my hand,” Loki snaps, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m not a child!”

 

“All right,” Thor says with a shrug, and lets go before stepping through the force shield. He then turns to smirk at Loki. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

 

Suspicious, Loki carefully places one hand against the force shield, and glares at Thor when it remains solid. “Only royalty and those we appoint can pass through these shields,” Thor explains, but does not hold out his hand again.

 

Loki sighs. “Your majesty, please.”

 

“Please what? You must be more specific.”

 

Thor’s innocent smile turns less so as Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously at him.

 

“Well? We don’t have all night.”

 

“Your majesty, will you please be so gracious and kind as to lend me a hand and help me out of this cell?” Loki requests acidly. Thor smiles, until Loki continues, “My king, my liege, my sovereign lord above all others whom I vow to serve until the end of my days, thou whose wisdom is above all others, whose strength is unparalleled  –“

 

His speech is cut off when Thor yanks him out of the cell by the front of his cloak, nearly causing him to trip.

 

Loki brushes off his cloak with a glare but does not fuss as Thor fixes his hood and takes his hand again. “Ready?” Thor asks cheekily.

 

Loki purses his lips and nods.

 

Once they are back in the tunnel, Loki retracts his hand out of principle and throws his hood back.

 

Thor looks over at his now-dried locks and barks out a laugh. “Your hair!”

 

“What about it?” Loki cries, bringing both hands up to smooth it down instinctively.

 

“It’s… you have curls!”

 

“So?” Loki retorts, somewhat hysterically.

 

Thor shrugs. “I just… I didn’t expect it.” His fingers twitch by his side, and though Loki fears that Thor is getting ready to touch a lock of his hair, he never does.

 

“So, did we get anywhere with him?” Loki asks in a desperate attempt at a subject change.

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

Loki looks at him in surprise. “Really?”

 

“We proved your suspicions correct, did we not?” Thor counters. “He’s been brainwashed, if you will, by another. Even some of the things he said seemed –“

 

“Rehearsed,” Loki finishes for him, and misses the odd look Thor shoots him.

 

“Exactly. All of the other interrogators focused on who was behind it all. You are the only one who went deeper than that, tried to find out _why_ he would follow another person’s commands.”

 

Loki’s face twists. “You _really_ need to make some staff changes.” Thor snorts. “Also, stop torturing your prisoners.”

 

Thor halts in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

 

Loki stops as well and turns to face him. “He’s been tortured, yes?”

 

Thor sighs. “Being anti-torture is all well and noble, Loki, until you become a ruler. Then you quickly find out that in order to keep your people safe, you must sometimes do terrible things. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s part of ruling… part of life.”

 

“I know that,” Loki growls. “Believe me, your majesty, I know. But torturing him only hinders his mental abilities to recall and to communicate. As a method, it simply doesn’t work very well.”

 

“And how do you know that?” Thor demands.

 

“Logic!” Loki cries. “That’s how! And you know what’s even more illogical than torture? Torturing a man who is already _not all there_.”

 

Thor shakes his head, as if Loki is the strange, foolish one; and Loki huffs. Then they continue walking without looking at one another.

 

“I did not personally torture him,” Thor mutters a few moments later. “It’s mainly Tyr who prefers such methods.”

 

Loki’s breath catches in his throat as his stomach lurches painfully. “Well, make him stop,” he suggests weakly.

 

“I will think on what you’ve told me,” Thor eventually says, and Loki decides that is all he can ask on the subject.

 

“So what happens now?”

 

“His trial,” Thor answers gruffly. “We have done all we can, I fear. The other perpetrators will reveal themselves within time, and I will be ready for them when they do.”

 

Loki steels himself, before, “He killed six people, by the way.”

 

“What?”

 

“Back in his cell,” Loki says nervously. “You said he killed four people. He killed six.”

 

“The Frost Giants,” Thor says after a moment.

 

Loki almost corrects him on his slur. “Right. He deserves to pay for their deaths, too.”

 

Thor hums thoughtfully but does not reply.

 

“Your majesty?” Loki asks a minute later, feeling brave again.

 

“Yes?”

 

“The weapons vault… you implied last time we spoke that you were implementing new security measures?”

 

“That’s right. As of right now, the Destroyer has been given orders to kill any being on sight that is not a member of the royal family. Not even the head guards or members of the council can step foot inside unless I, my father, or my mother give the word.”

 

“Oh,” Loki says quietly, and finds all traces of hope within him fading.

 

“You don’t have to worry about another break-in,” Thor assures him with a smile, but Loki barely notices.

 

In the end, it does not matter how closely Thor consults with him — not only will he remain Thor’s little secret, marched around at night while Ullr and the guards who see him are sworn to secrecy, but he will never be allowed access to the weapons vault again, either.

 

Not unless he becomes queen, that is.

 

And since he will never be able to correct Thor’s views on the Jotnar — how can he, Loki wonders, when even his friends do not understand why he would bother defending the race they were taught to fear and hate — there is nothing he can do short of stealing the Casket which, if such a thing was not impossible before, certainly is now.

 

Suddenly, Jotunheim seems farther away than ever before, and Loki feels like a fool for daring to believe otherwise.

 

“Loki,” Thor begins when the entrance to the tunnel is within sight, “as I’ve already stated, you are under my protection now. If someone is ever bothering you, if they insult you or _dare_ lay a hand on you — let me know, and I will take care of them for you.”

 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Loki protests weakly, confused and unsure of how to proceed.

 

Thor gives him a soft look and merely replies, “I know. But I want to.”

 

Thankfully, Ullr chooses that moment to appear. “My king. Loki.”

 

“Will that be all, your majesty?” Loki asks, grabbing at his chance to get away.

 

Thor looks at him for a while, before finally answering, “For now.”

 

Rather than question him or try to argue, Loki just gives him the most sincere-looking bow he can currently muster before leaving with Ullr.

 

Later that night, Loki dreams of a cell, and of Tyr torturing him.

 

He awakens with a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, Long Author’s Note time!
> 
> I’ve had many comments from different readers expressing disturbance at the noncon elements in this fic, as well as Thor’s treatment of Loki. I just want to make it clear to everyone reading that there will NOT be any rape in this story. I have a lot of tags up there, and would have warned for noncon if it were going to show up. Obviously "dubcon/noncon situations" is tagged because, well… Loki was captured and forced into a harem. But Thor is not going to rape him, and nor will he rape any of the other girls. I’ve left a lot of the details surrounding their ‘One Night’ purposefully vague, partly because it’s still very vague to the characters themselves; but I know exactly what’s going to happen, and I can promise you all right now that there will be absolutely NO noncon. And Loki won’t be brainwashed, either.
> 
> Aesir society has a lot of backwards views, and the way they’re going about finding Thor a new queen is wrong. Just because I write it, that doesn’t mean I condone it. But I promise that a lot of these issues are going to be addressed within the fic (a minor example of that actually occurs in this chapter, when Loki calls Thor out for letting Tyr torture prisoners), and that Thor and many of the other characters will change for the better by the end of this story.
> 
> Also, lol at me — I’ve mentioned several times now about how everything is going to ~change for Loki in the next chapter or whatever, but then I keep adding more chapters! But really, the next chapter will finally answer many of your questions —and I mean it this time! It will also be the end of Act I, if you will.
> 
> Last but not least, please know that I’m not mad at any of you who have commented with your concerns. In fact, I’m flattered! It means so much to me as a writer to see readers genuinely care about my characters. Of course, they’re not really my characters, only my interpretations of them… and we all love Loki and want the best for him, the precious little shit that he is <3 But still, I really appreciate those of you who have left me such passionate, thoughtful comments. Please, don’t stop!
> 
> Ugh, I just appreciate all of you, period! I can’t believe how many views, kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions this "little" story has gotten — a +60,000-words fic where Thor and Loki haven’t even kissed yet! You guys have been so incredibly kind to me, and I can’t thank you enough <3


	18. Chapter 18

It was a little over a month into their stay at the harem.

 

Sigyn was crying again, so Loki padded into her dark bedroom and gently shook her awake. They talked more about Sigyn’s family, about their fears and their hopes for the future.

 

Then, Sigyn snuggled against her pillow, blinked tired eyes up at Loki, and requested, “Tell me a story.”

 

“What kind of story would you like to hear?” Loki returned, regarding her with fond amusement.

 

“Something… magical. Set in a far-off world.”

 

They shared a sad, knowing smile.

 

“Long ago,” Loki began in soft, dulcet tones, “there was a great and powerful kingdom in a very far-off world.”

 

He then paused, knowing that he should tell a different story than the one hanging off the tip of his tongue.

 

To this day, he does not know why he continued.

 

“The king and… queen ruled their people well, and the spirits blessed them with two strong, healthy, beautiful children. And then a war started between their land and the neighboring kingdom — nobody remembers why it started, for each kingdom tells a different story — but the war itself will always be remembered for the thousands of lives that were taken, the bloodshed and the brutality of it.”

 

“This doesn’t sound like a very happy story,” Sigyn commented mid-yawn.

 

Loki’s smile faded. “It’s not. Do you want me to continue?”

 

“Please.”

 

“You won’t get nightmares?”

 

Sigyn slapped his thigh, and Loki laughed and continued, “Towards the end of the war, when things were at its worst, the queen became pregnant with a third child. She hid her pregnancy from all but a few, but she could not keep it a secret forever as she fought on the front-lines –“

 

“She fought while pregnant?!”

 

“She did. The kingdom couldn’t afford to not have her fight. Anyway, halfway through her pregnancy, her husband was slain, but she continued on until, months later, she was also struck down in battle. But her sons were nearby, as was one of their most faithful servants, so the three of them rescued her and fled to a hidden, sacred temple, where the servant was forced to induce her labor to save the child. He… he tried to save the queen as well, but after delivering the child, the queen’s wounds from battle were too great.” Loki swallowed. “She died minutes later.”

 

“That’s terrible,” Sigyn whispered, eyes slipping closed. “Did she even get a chance to hold her child?”

 

With Sigyn’s eyes shut, Loki allowed a tear to slip down his cheek. “She did. And before her last breath, she instructed the servant to take the child and escape to the neighboring kingdom to hide him, keep him safe.” Sigyn’s breathing began to even out, but he continued softly, “The king and queen were buried together, but their enemies dug up the grave in order to make sure that the youngest prince had died within the mother’s womb; and when they found that the queen had clearly given birth, they searched everywhere for the child. They even interrogated the princes who survived the war, but the princes publically proclaimed the child to be dead. The neighboring kingdom eventually gave up and accepted that the child died in the harsh elements, its body dissolved into the air… but little do they know that it is within their kingdom that the child still lives, under a new name to protect his identity.”

 

“That’s a very sad story,” Sigyn whispered, startling Loki who had thought her asleep. Thankfully, her eyes remained closed as Loki wiped away his tears.

 

“Yes… yes, it is.”

 

“And so the youngest prince was never reunited with his brothers?”

 

“Not yet. Someday, they promised him, they will come for him and the child’s guardian — the servant. When it is safe.”

 

“And that’s how it ends? With a promise?”

 

“With hope.”

 

“I hope they bring him home someday,” Sigyn said, yawning again. “Thanks for the story, Loki. You’re… you’re a wonderful friend…” Seconds later, she was fully asleep, and Loki returned to his bedroom and cried silent tears until dawn.

  

* * *

 

“You have lied, disobeyed the commands of your king, and betrayed the House of Odin by bringing Frost Giants into this realm.”

 

Thor stares down at the prisoner, who is forced to his knees before the steps leading up to Hlidskjalf. On his right stand Tyr and Hoenir, and on his left, Odin and Frigga; and without looking at them, Thor knows that his parents’ faces are far more terrifying than his in this moment.

 

“You have committed the worst act of treason we have seen in over a century. Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

 

“Only that I’d do it again,” the prisoner spits.

 

Thor shrugs. “Very well; that is all I needed to hear,” he says casually, before his face hardens. “Then on grounds of treason, conspiracy, and six counts of murder, I hereby sentence you to death, by beheading.”

 

A few court members quietly murmur in approval, but the prisoner just stares impassively up at Thor.

 

“It is a much kinder death,” Thor continues pointedly, “then the ones you subjected your victims to.”

 

The prisoner remains silent, not a single hint of guilt on his face, and when Thor tires of looking at him, he motions for Vali to escort him out. “You will be executed three days from now, at dawn. Court dismissed.”

 

“Well done,” Tyr tells him as the crowd begins filing out of the throne room, though the smile on his face is clearly bothered.

 

“But?” Thor presses, rising from his throne.

 

“I think you read the charges wrong.”

 

Thor blinks. “I think not.”

 

“You said that he killed six people, when he only killed four.” Tyr shrugs. “Oh well. His sentence would have been the same either way –“

 

“He did kill six people.”

 

“So I suppose it does not… what?”

 

Thor’s mouth sets into a grim line. “Were there not two Jotuns in the vault that night?”

 

“Since when are they people?” Tyr retorts with a scoff.

 

Thor’s lip curls in disgust, and he turns away from Tyr and begins to walk away. “It was a jest!” Tyr calls after him, but Thor just rolls his eyes and keeps walking, expertly dodging every council member and noble wanting to speak to him until he safely makes it to his personal chambers.

 

As soon as the door is shut behind him, Thor sags against it and lets out a long sigh of relief. Here, there are no prying eyes, no ears listening intently for every word to leave his lips; and no one will dare follow him here unless it is an emergency — save his parents and closest friends, of course, but Thor saw the looks on their faces as they watched him leave the throne room. They will leave him be, for now.

 

For all of his good qualities, Tyr and his obsession with the Jotnar is becoming tiresome for Thor.

 

He had thought hard about what Loki told him, how the traitor deserved to pay for the deaths of the two Jotuns, too; and it did not take him long to decide that Loki was right.

 

Enemies of the Aesir or not, the Jotnar are people.

 

Thor smiles a little, remembering how Loki had knelt before the Jotuns that night in the weapons vault and whispered a prayer — or a blessing of some kind, Thor is not exactly sure — over their remains. It had confused Thor at the time, for he wondered why a young Asgardian like Loki would even care about Frost Giants.

 

He has yet to come up with an answer, except maybe it is simply that Loki, beneath his rude veneer, is actually a sort of kind, thoughtful creature.

 

Compassionate.

 

Still, Thor does not quite understand it; but then again, he does not understand anything about Loki, so perhaps it is to be expected.

 

After collecting himself, Thor ventures into his bedroom and sets Mjolnir down before stripping off his official armor, letting the individual pieces fall to the floor without care. Once he is down to his trousers, he steps out onto his wide balcony, breathing in the hot morning air — which is a bit dry; Asgard is probably about due for a nice rainstorm, Thor notes — and smiling as the sun’s rays warm his bare skin. With the trial out of the way, Thor’s day is officially free unless something comes up, and he intends to bask in his freedom for as long as he can.

 

His balcony gives a clear view over the palace grounds and out onto the city. It is a majestic sight at any time of day, and one that Thor never tires of; but as he gazes down at the harem, merely a tiny speck from this high up and barely even recognizable, he suddenly wishes that his chambers were not located on one of the highest floors of the palace.

 

He is worried about Loki.

 

The traitor’s exact words were ‘We know who he is’ — not ‘I,’ but ‘we.’ And the way he spoke about Loki, about Thor being wrapped around his finger and Thor fucking him — and truthfully, Thor would probably flush in arousal at the thought of it were he not so worried — it makes no sense, even if the traitor did manage to catch a glimpse of Loki as he was brought into the harem.

 

No, he has heard someone else say those things about Loki — Thor is sure of it. And except for a handful of trusted people, nobody should know enough about Loki and his current situation with Thor to even suggest such things.

 

It is troubling, to say the least, and Thor fears for Loki and what this might mean for his safety.

 

He did not mention it as they left the dungeons for a reason, though. He could tell that Loki, for all of his cleverness and powers of observation, was simply too scared and overwhelmed to notice anything more sinister behind the prisoner’s crude words at that moment, not like Thor did. Loki may be intelligent and cunning, but there is a sheltered naivety about him, an odd sweetness behind his cutting words and fierce demeanor — and Thor does not want to ruin that, nor cause the boy to be even more afraid than he already is.

 

But Loki will be fine, Thor tells himself. Heimdall is keeping a closer eye on him now, as is Thor. If someone even attempts to hurt Loki, Thor will know about it; and he will happily annihilate them for even trying.

 

With that thought, Thor leans against the balcony railing and sighs again.

 

He does not understand why, but he simply cannot get the boy out of his mind. If he is not fretting over Loki’s safety, he is thinking about something else related to him.

 

For instance, Loki’s attitude: were anyone else to speak to Thor in such a fashion, he would consider having them flogged for impertinence — but instead he finds Loki’s sarcasm and obvious lack of respect to be rather charming. Even the way he supposedly forgets to bow upon meeting Thor, as a commoner without station should, and merely gives a pitiful attempt at it when dismissed is more amusing to Thor than it is insulting.

 

When he called Thor by his first name alone, Thor was shocked, to say the least. Though he makes allowances on the battlefield and appreciates that his close friends have continued to address him as their equal unless the situation dictates otherwise, it infuriates Thor when people do not show him the respect he deserves, and that includes not using any of his proper titles.

 

But he finds that he is not mad at Loki. The boy was desperate and afraid; and judging by the look on his face afterwards, how he stuttered and the way his almost unnaturally white skin somehow managed to pale even further, he clearly did not mean to yell out Thor’s name. In this, Thor will excuse him.

 

The strangest part, though, is how it almost felt right to Thor, to hear his name coming from Loki’s lips like that. Now that he thinks about, he cannot recall ever hearing Loki say his name before, preferring to address him as ‘your majesty’ instead of ‘King Thor.’

 

But then Thor thinks about how every ‘your majesty’ is laced with undisguised contempt, and he is caught between scowling and smiling.

 

It is baffling.

 

Loki is baffling.

 

A flapping of wings is heard, and then Huginn is suddenly planted next to him on the railing, eyes looking out over the city.

 

Thor frowns down at him, bemused. “Not that I don’t enjoy our newfound closeness, Huginn, but why is father spying on me so much these days? And where in the nine is Muninn, anyway?”

 

Huginn does not appear to have heard Thor, gaze fixed somewhere on the palace grounds below. Peering back and forth between the raven’s eyes and the direction he is staring in, it almost seems to Thor as if Huginn is looking at the harem, too.

 

Thor rolls his eyes heavily. “Fine. I will leave you to your machinations, then — father,” he says, equal parts annoyed and amused before retreating back inside his bedroom.

 

The heat was beginning to get to him, anyway.

 

* * *

  

“I’m tired,” Loki confesses, draped across the window seat in the back of the harem library. “I’m just so tired of everything. Ever since waking the entire harem last week with my nightmares, the whispers behind my back have only increased. And to top it all off, Balder and Skadi have barely left me alone for five minutes!” He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t camped out in my bedroom at night… though I’m pretty sure Balder must be sleeping on our living room sofa some, because the messes my suitemates make in there each evening have been mysteriously cleaned up the past few mornings.”

 

He huffs, letting one arm dangle out of the open window. “To be honest, a part of me is glad that they’re here. I feel… safer with them, even though I shouldn’t. Do you know what I mean?”

 

The raven just stares back at Loki from his perch on a low tree branch right outside the window.

 

“Of course you don’t,” Loki mutters, before offering the raven a small smile. “Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 

The raven still does not move; but he has also not moved since he appeared just minutes after Loki sat down, and has continued to listen to Loki’s entire rant without complaint.

 

“And speaking of safe, there’s King Thor and his promises of protection.” Loki’s mouth twists. “What does he even mean by that, anyway? He’s just…” Loki lets out a groan of frustration. “He’s infuriating!”

 

The raven lets out a small croak, as if amused, which makes Loki giggle at the thought of it.

 

“I wish my uncle was here,” he says moments later, voice soft and eyes focused on the windowsill. “He’s missed _two_ of our weekly meetings now, which is unlike him. Balder even inquired after him for me, and all Eir said is that he’s taking some time off.” Loki’s bites on his lip worryingly. “I just hope he’s all right…”

 

As if on cue, the door opens, and Loki turns his head to find Balder headed his way, with Skadi on his heels. “Loki?” Balder questions warily. “Who were you… were you talking to someone?”

 

At the strange looks on their faces, Loki opens his mouth and turns back towards the raven, only to find all traces of him gone. “Um… myself?”

 

“I knew it,” Skadi mutters, and even Balder sends her a quick glare before beaming at Loki.

 

“I’m surprised to find you in here and not in the gardens, seeing as it’s such a lovely day outside.”

 

Loki’s lip curls. “Lovely? It’s hot and dry and gross.”

 

He ultimately decides that there is no point in telling them that, were he not imprisoned at the harem, he would most likely be swimming in the creek behind his and Angrboda’s cottage right now, in the little section of it that is actually deep enough for Loki to submerge himself without completely lying down.

 

On the hottest days of the summer, he would float under the tiny waterfall — if one could call it that, for it was only about three feet tall at the most — and let the cold, refreshing water gush over his body.

 

Now he has only the bathhouse if he wants to take a swim.

 

Balder chuckles. “Well, now that you mention it, we are due for some rain, aren’t we?”

 

“Have you heard from my uncle?” Loki asks hopefully.

 

Balder’s face falls. “No. But I’m sure he’ll be back soon…“

 

“It’s fine,” Loki dismisses, looking away.

 

“Skadi’s just come from the trial,” Balder says in an awkward subject change, leaning back against the nearest bookshelf. “I thought she could tell both of us how it went, seeing as how you’ll probably want to know, too.”

 

Loki just shrugs, mind mostly still on Angrboda.

 

“Well, there’s not much to tell, really,” Skadi says, crossing her arms casually. “The prisoner was dragged in, seemed unrepentant as the charges were read, and stated that he would gladly do it all over again.” Her lips twitch. “Typical.”

 

“What was the sentence?” Balder asks, and Loki looks over at them again.

 

Skadi’s eyes gleam in a way that makes Loki sit up straighter, and he holds his breath as he waits for her to answer.

 

“Beheading.”

 

Loki ignores the slight shiver that runs down his spine.

 

“It’s set to take place three days from now, at dawn.”

 

“And the charges?” Rearranging his body so that he is sitting cross-legged, Loki asks, “What were they, officially?”

 

Skadi looks right at him as she says it: “Treason, conspiracy, and six counts of murder.”

 

It takes a moment, but then Loki’s lips part.

 

“You should’ve seen Tyr’s face,” Skadi then remarks to Balder, causing him to laugh.

 

“Six?” They both turn to look at Loki. “There were six?” Loki breathes out, eyes wide.

 

“Yes,” is Skadi’s only reply.

 

“Four guards, two Jotuns,” Balder tells him, as if Loki did not already know, was not there to see what was left of the bodies before they were cleaned up.

 

“Why are you smiling?” Skadi snaps, though her eyes are still bright with what Loki thinks might be satisfaction.

 

Not realizing that he had begun to smile, Loki swallows and tries his best to return to a more neutral expression. “I’m just… glad that it’s all over, I suppose.”

 

“So am I,” Balder says happily, seemingly none the wiser.

 

“I have to go,” Loki then says, and hurries from the room despite their protests.

 

He manages to make it to his bedroom before dropping his mask. With his arms spread like wings, he falls back onto his bed with a soft sigh, an incredulous smile playing on his lips.

 

“He did it,” Loki mouths silently, and then repeats in a whisper, “He did it.”

 

Of all the people to not treat him strangely for defending the Jotnar, to listen to his concerns and even act on them — it is King Thor of Asgard.

 

Loki can hardly believe it.

 

He felt surprise and relief and many other emotions when Thor did not try to contradict him that night, and Loki was more than content with Thor’s silence, merely thankful that he seemed to hear what Loki said and did not react with any apparent judgment.

 

But the last thing he expected was for Thor to actually do something about it.

 

It sounds like such a small, trifling thing, but it is not. In charging the traitor with the deaths of the Jotuns along with the Asgardians, Thor essentially pronounced them as equal, in a sense, in front of all of Asgard.

 

And all because of Loki.

 

Loki closes his eyes, a soft smile still on his face.

 

His eyes fly back open and his smile eventually fades, however, when he realizes that once the traitor is executed, Thor will most likely have no more reasons to call on him. He will not be needed anymore.

 

He wishes he could just accept this, say that he has done his part for Jotunheim and then concentrate on surviving the next six months. But he cannot — not when he has seen the Casket with his own two eyes, has heard its song and felt its calling.

 

He thinks back to what Thor told him, how only members of the royal family have access to the weapons vault now.

 

But no, he tells himself; there must be a way.

 

There must be.

 

* * *

  

The next day marks the end of their studies of Jotunheim.

 

By that afternoon, Loki begins to relax, believing the worst of it to be over. There is nothing else anyone can say — no joke, no insult, and no lie — which he will not have heard already.

 

There will be no more surprises.

 

He is wrong.

 

“I want to know if the rumor is true,” one girl requests, when Balder is letting them ask any last questions.

 

“Rumor?”

 

“Some say that there is a third prince of Jotunheim… a lost prince.”

 

Balder smiles knowingly, as if he has been waiting for this all along.

 

“It was in the aftermath of the war, when the All-Father and his men came upon the grave of Laufey and Farbauti. The All-Father had his men break the ice to confirm their deaths, only to find that Laufey had clearly given birth before he died.”

 

“The king fought while pregnant?” another girl asks, horrified.

 

“Of course,” Balder replies. “He couldn’t afford not to.”

 

Sigyn peers over at Loki curiously.

 

“It is not as strange of a concept in their culture,” Skadi explains, “though there _have_ been notable female Aesir warriors who have fought while pregnant.”

 

“Did they know that Laufey was pregnant during the war?”

 

“No. Not for a while, anyway,” Balder says. “Jotnar pregnancies are not very noticeable to our eyes until the last few months or so. When King Odin interrogated King Helblindi and Prince Byleistr about it, they swore that the child died during birth along with Laufey, and that they gave its body to the elements. They even proclaimed it to be so before the Jotnar.”

 

“Did King Odin believe them?”

 

Balder chuckles. “He definitely did not. But after years of searching for the child, King Odin concludes that he must be dead, for not even Heimdall has ever caught sight of him.”

 

“Though it is said that many Jotnar believe that the child is still alive and will return to them someday,” Skadi adds, “delivering them from poverty and restoring Jotunheim to its former glory.”

 

She then hums thoughtfully. “It has been a long while since I’ve heard the tale of Loptr, the Lost Prince of Jotunheim.”

 

“Loki,” Sigyn whispers, “you –“

 

Loki stumbles out of his chair and runs from the room.

 

He ignores Balder’s concerned calls for him to come back and rushes down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step before catching himself and fleeing into the garden.

 

He barely makes it to the garden wall before collapsing onto the grass and vomiting.

 

He sobs in between his retching, from the physical pain as well as everything that has happened to him.

 

Then he thinks of everything that is expected of him, which sets off another round of painful sickness.

 

Once his stomach has nothing left to offer, Loki wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sits up on his knees, teary eyes looking around as his thoughts continue racing.

 

He wonders if he should run — climb over the wall right now and run and run until his feet bleed, until he has found a way to Jotunheim — he might make it, he thinks deliriously. Or he will be caught, thrown into the dungeons and tortured by Tyr until Thor comes to save him.

 

Or kill him.

 

It is then that his eyes spot a tiny magpie lying on its back several feet away from him, one wing flapping angrily while the other lies strangely still against the ground.

 

“No,” Loki moans, and crawls over to inspect the fallen creature.

 

Its white, black-tipped wing is clearly broken, and Loki lets out a strangled cry when he is unable to access his healing seidr because of his bracelets. “No, no, no!”

 

A shadow then falls over him, but Loki cannot take his eyes off the bird as a figure kneels by his side. “Please, I can’t heal her, I don’t have my magic, I can’t –“

 

“Hold her steady,” Loki is told, and in his desperation he obeys without question, holding the bird’s body down firmly but gently as the other person places three of their fingers on the broken wing.

 

A chant is murmured under the other’s breath, and seconds later the wing slowly but surely starts to twitch.

 

Loki grins despite his tears, and he cups the bird in his hands before holding her up to the sky. He watches happily as she flies off into the distance before the smile fades from his lips, and then he finally looks at the person before him. “You know seidr. You never told me.”

 

Skadi smirks a little. “There is much you don’t know about me, child. And it seems that there is much you truly don’t know about yourself, either.”

 

Loki sniffs. “What?”

 

Skadi inclines her head towards the direction the bird went in. “You seem to be under the impression that you aren’t compassionate.”

 

Loki lets out another choked sob.

 

“Oh, the things you could do for our people,” Skadi then murmurs, more to herself than to Loki.

 

“I c-can’t,” Loki cries. “There, there isn’t a way –“

 

“But there is,” Skadi says pointedly, and Loki buries his face in his hands and weeps.

 

They speak no more that afternoon, but Skadi sits in the garden with Loki and lets him lay his head in her lap, petting his hair until his tears run dry.

  

* * *

  

The night before the execution, Thor steps onto his balcony and looks out over Asgard.

 

It is a different view at night, the golden city lit by soft moonlight instead of the blinding sun; though it is just as beautiful this way, it not more so, in Thor’s eyes.

 

With a smile, Thor lets electricity build in his fingertips, traveling along his nerves until his entire body is crackling with energy.

 

Then, he releases it into the sky, and a roar of thunder follows.

 

For it is time.

 

* * *

 

It is after midnight, and Loki lies awake in his bed, listening to the driving rain batter his window and blinking at every flash of lightning that briefly illuminates his room.

 

It is not the storm that keeps him from slumber, however, nor the threat of nightmares — it is the more recent thoughts that have been haunting him as of late, dark and troubling and scarier than Loki has ever known.

 

His breakdown had been painful. Even though Balder successfully kept everyone away from any windows looking out onto the garden, Loki is still embarrassed over how he wailed and wept into Skadi’s dress.

 

But it was necessary.

 

He understands, now, that there is only one way to gain access to the Casket, to truly help Jotunheim.

 

Loki is hesitant to accept it, though, for accepting it will mean probably never being allowed to take his bracelets off, never having access to his magic again; not to mention being exposed to more corruption and racism against his people than he could ever imagine. And, when discovered, because such blatant treason will surely be found out at some point — he will die.

 

And it will be a long, slow, painful death.

 

But then, Skadi’s words ring in his mind again: the things he could do for his people.

 

Before Loki knows it, he out of bed and tiptoeing down the stairs, slipping through one of the backdoors as quickly and quietly as he can.

 

He pauses under the shade of the veranda, looking out at the falling rain and then down at his loose sleep shirt and bare legs.

 

Then, before he can change his mind, he all but leaps off the veranda steps and onto the slippery wet grass.

 

He is drenched within seconds, but the feeling of numerous raindrops pummeling his skin is not as painful as he feared it might be — it is cool, refreshing, and invigorating.

 

And somehow, it is in that moment that he truly accepts what was, perhaps, inevitable from the start.

 

“I know what I must do now,” Loki announces to the sky. And then softer, “I think part of me has known for a while now, but didn’t want to admit it.”

 

It would be nearly impossible for one to hear him amidst the rain and the thunder; yet his dam must hear him, for a short, harsh gust of wind immediately follows his words, sending tree leaves swirling and nearly causing Loki to fall backwards.

 

And then a giant, jagged bolt of lightning streaks down from the sky, unusual compared to the mere flashes that have proceeded it and so large that Loki thinks it must have touched down somewhere in the distance.

 

His sire.

 

“I’m sorry,” Loki tells Laufey and Farbauti. And then, “I love you.”

 

But he does not cry. He is done crying.

 

Eyes closed, Loki spreads his arms like wings, tips his face to the sky, and grins.

  

* * *

  

With the rain coming down all over Asgard now, Thor sits on Hlidskjalf and looks out over his realm, from the capital to the smaller towns and villages and over the mountains, forests, and plains. Then, his eyes pass curiously over the harem.

 

And he gasps at what he sees.

 

It is Loki, standing out in the pouring rain with his arms stretched out, soaked to the bone and wearing naught but a green, long-sleeved sleep shirt that is plastered to his skin and only reaches mid-thigh. His long, bare legs nearly glow in their paleness; in contrast, his black hair hangs in thick, wet locks behind his shoulders; and his neck is elongated, head tilted back invitingly.

 

His grin is chaotic, and when he laughs, he sounds mad.

 

He is beautiful.

 

“What are you doing, little sorcerer?” Thor murmurs, and laughs as Loki spins in a circle and sticks his tongue out to taste the rain.

 

He then watches in bemusement as Skadi comes into his vision, stepping out onto the veranda with fury written all over her face. “Loki!” she screams. “Get back here this instant!”

 

“Whatever for?” Loki calls back, throwing a mischievous grin at her over his shoulder.

 

“You could get hurt!” Skadi cries in exasperation, and the next flash of lightning that follows immediately after just proves her point. “And sick!”

 

Loki just laughs at her and does a flamboyant twirl, causing Thor to chuckle again and Skadi to fume even more.

 

But he eventually drops his arms and, with one last gorgeous smile directed at the sky, slowly makes his way over to the veranda, allowing Skadi to wrap him up in a thick towel and herd him back inside the harem.

 

She will no doubt give him a harsh, well-deserved lecture before sending him to bed, and Thor grins at the thought. But as tempting as it is to watch, he forces himself to rise from his throne and return to his chambers instead.

 

That night, he dreams of Loki, standing in the rain and looking more beautifully alive than Thor has ever seen him look — has ever seen anyone look.

 

And when morning comes, and Vali has the traitor dragged into the high tower above the dungeons, Thor does not pay attention to Hoenir’s careful stoicism or Tyr’s obvious satisfaction.

 

Rather, it is Loki’s sweet face that Thor imagines as he lowers his blade onto the prisoner’s bowed neck, cleanly slicing off his head in one powerful blow.

  

* * *

  

On the morning of the first day of the sixth month, Balder and Skadi have them all gather in the main hall after their morning beauty routines.

 

“Today marks the beginning of the six month,” Balder begins, “so first, on behalf of Skadi and myself, congratulations to all of you. Seeing as how the eleventh and twelfth months will consist of final preparations and the scheduling of everyone’s one night, you are officially halfway finished with your basic training; and you have _all_ shown tremendous improvement in such little time. We are very proud of how far each and every one of you have come.”

 

Loki smiles along with the others, if only faintly.

 

“However, there is still much work to be done,” Skadi cuts in. “After today, we will begin new beauty evaluations for each of you; and we will start working more on posture, movement, dance, and speech.”

 

“But first, we have a surprise for you.” All of the youth lean forward in anticipation. “This morning, we will be visiting the official palace treasury.”

 

Balder grins as many of the girls gasp in shock and delight.

 

“Everything that was once stored here in the harem for its inhabitants to wear, both clothing and jewelry, was moved to the treasury once the king’s concubines were dismissed,” Balder explains, before his grin widens. “But now it is for each of you to choose from, in preparation for what you will wear for your one night with the king.”

 

The room explodes in a flurry of excited chatter and giggling.

 

Sigyn just grins over at Loki, which Loki is eager to return, merely because he is happy to see her look at him with anything other than caution and concern — her main two expressions for him as of late.

 

“Quiet!” Skadi is eventually forced to yell.

 

“We were going to wait until closer to time to let you choose,” Balder continues, “but it was actually Skadi’s idea” — Skadi throws a sharp, betrayed glare his way — “to reward you all with a look now.”

 

“As an incentive to do better,” Skadi insists.

 

“Right,” Balder says cheerfully. “Everyone meet back here in half an hour, and then we’ll go!”

 

Some of the youth nearly get knocked down and trampled as they run up the stairs in their haste to ready themselves.

 

“I can’t believe it,” Sigyn says with a dreamy sigh once they are in their suite.

 

“What?” Loki cries. “I thought you didn’t want to marry the king.”

 

Sigyn looks at him as if he is an idiot. “Of course I don’t want to!” She then smiles. “But how could I not be excited to see the palace _treasury_?!”

 

“I’ll choose a necklace,” Amora says with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Something grand, but tasteful. And maybe a pair of earrings that dangle.”

 

“I’m going to _cover_ myself in jewelry!” Lorelei exclaims. “The more, the better!”

 

“So that you jingle with even the slightest movement?” Amora asks, one eyebrow raised in clear disapproval.

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

Loki just shakes his head and laughs, and they each depart to their separate bedrooms to dress for leaving the harem.

 

Once they are in the palace, Balder has them walk huddled together, with him leading the way and Skadi bringing up the rear. Of course, they attract a lot of attention — everyone who walks by their group knows that they are seeing their future queen in there, somewhere — but Loki does not look closely at any of the warriors or nobles or servants that they pass, content on admiring the palace instead.

 

It is the first time that he has ventured inside it during the day, as well as while not under duress; and he is now able to take in much of the grand beauty that was lost on him before.

 

He is unsure as to whether it is relief or disappointment that he feels when he does not see Thor anywhere.

 

Eventually, they arrive outside the treasury, and Skadi motions to the guards standing by the heavy, golden doors to wait before she walks around the youth to stand beside Balder. “Now, all of you listen to me very carefully,” she begins. “Queen Frigga _herself_ has approved this little venture, so I do _not_ want to see _one_ person running or throwing things around or knocking anything over.” Balder nods in agreement, giving them the closest thing to a stern expression that he can accomplish. “Have I made myself clear?”

 

“Yes, Skadi,” everyone says.

 

“And _no_ yelling!” Balder adds, and Skadi nods.

 

“Open the doors,” she then instructs the guards.

 

Despite Skadi’s warnings, most of the girls all but run inside, and their gasps and exclamations echo out into the hallway as they immediately begin scouting for what they are going to wear, loudly claiming this dress or arguing over that piece of jewelry.

 

Balder and Skadi exchange a long-suffering look and follow after them, as does Loki.

 

Once inside, Loki cannot help but gasp, too, taking in the high ceiling — higher than the throne room, maybe — and the long walls that seem to make the room go on forever. He is barely even able to see where the room ends, exactly.

 

There is gold everywhere, as well as sparkling diamonds, elegant strands of pearls, and radiant jewels of every kind — rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, and other gemstones that even Loki does not know the name of. And in one corner, beside piles of finely made dresses and sheer veils and delicate smallclothes, there are rolls upon rolls of fabric — shimmering lace and colorful silks and practically everything that one might need to create the perfect outfit to wear for presenting themself to the king.

 

“You don’t have to make any decisions right now!” Balder calls out to them, but his words seem to fall on deaf ears.

 

“Loki?” he then asks, suddenly noticing that Loki is the only youth still hanging back near the entrance.

 

Skadi sighs. “We know that you don’t care, but will you just go ahead and choose _something_?”

 

Loki hesitates, and then, “What would you suggest?”

 

They both pause at his words, at his serious tone and the determined look on his face; and so Loki continues nervously, “I do not know the king, not really… so how should I know what he would like?”

 

Gathering his strength, he asks quietly, “Will you show me?”

 

Skadi still looks shocked, but Balder eventually recovers and gives Loki a smile that rivals even the most glittering treasures in the room.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes the unofficial Act I of this fic!
> 
> The next chapter will have more insight into Loki's decision to fight for the crown, as well as everyone's reactions! And, of course, more Thor obsessing over Loki ;]
> 
> It won't be posted until sometime in January, so I'll go ahead and wish everyone a Merry Christmas, a Happy Holidays, and a wonderful New Years! See you all in 2014 <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannnnd I’m back! …With my longest chapter yet, as an apology for taking for so long.
> 
> Read on for new characters, dramatic reunions, naked Loki, emo Thor, confused Loki, and sexual tension!

After weeks of preparation, the day of Freyja’s arrival is finally upon them.

 

Thor, Odin, and Frigga congregate inside the Bifrost chamber bright and early, all three of them eagerly awaiting Freyja’s return to Asgard. Also with them are several attendants on stand-by, ready to take whatever things Freyja may bring with her and carry them to her chambers in the palace.

 

Because of the close relationship between the House of Odin and Frey, Freyja is never accompanied by Alfheim guards on her visits to Asgard, as her safety is always more than guaranteed. And as for servants, despite the reputation she holds with many as being utterly lavish and spoiled, Freyja is actually rather independent and does not usually care to be waited on hand and foot or have dozens at her beck and call. Nonetheless, Frigga always appoints two of her own personal handmaidens to attend to Freyja whenever she visits — and for a queen of Asgard to share of her handmaidens is an incredible honor, one that is almost unheard of.

 

But then again, the relationship that Freyja holds with Frigga and her family is also something that few people truly understand.

 

For Frigga, Freyja has always been a close confidant of hers, whom she can not only exchange delightful gossip and scandalous secrets with but also share in the burden that comes with ruling one of the nine realms — or in Freyja’s case, being a sibling to a ruler of one of the realms. As famed seidkonas, they also spend much of their time discussing their craft and working seidr together. And while Thor has never been privy to these conversations, he knows that Freyja, while not having a natural gift of prophecy herself, is someone that Frigga is able to lean on in that regard, too. The life of a seeress is not an easy one, and Frigga’s friendship with Freyja is a comfort to her, and therefore also a comfort to Odin and Thor.

 

With Odin, Freyja is a fantastic debater, and the two of them can often be found in the library or in Odin’s study, discussing politics and war or playing games of strategy. Odin enjoys Freyja’s wit and outspokenness, while Freyja has a great admiration for Odin and loves learning from him.

 

And as for Thor, he and Freyja have developed a special friendship over the years, one that is different from the friendships he shares with Sif and the Warriors Three.

 

When Thor was just starting to become a young adult, with skinny, gangly limbs and a hairless face, Freyja suddenly became more to him than just a friend of his mother’s; and it was not long until he grew undeniably smitten by her beauty and worldly charm. Though Thor thought it love at the time, it never became more than a harmless crush, a first love that fizzled out as Thor grew older and set his sights on Hariasa, a noble’s daughter who was actually Thor’s age and blushed every time Thor pulled at her long, golden hair; but his short-lived infatuation is something that Freyja and his parents still love to tease him about whenever the opportunity arises. 

 

Even so, Thor is incredibly happy to have found a friend in Freyja in his adult life, and has come to value her advice just as much as he cherishes her humor.

 

When she finally appears before them, impeccably dressed in the latest fashions and looking as jaw-droppingly gorgeous as ever, it is Frigga that she goes to first, as always. Thor and Odin motion for the servants to begin transporting Freyja’s many suitcases to the palace before standing back and watching with a smile as the two women embrace one another tightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” Frigga tells her sweetly.

 

Freyja hums. “And I, you.”

 

“You just saw her, what… about a month ago?”

 

Frigga glares at Odin over Freyja’s shoulder. “Hush, you. It feels like ages!”

 

Odin chuckles, and Freyja extracts herself from Frigga’s arms and turns to face him with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you haven’t missed me, too.”

 

Odin places a teasingly light kiss on the back of her hand. “On the contrary, my dear; I have been utterly distraught since our last parting.”

 

“Always a charmer,” Freyja says with a roll of her eyes.

 

Then, to Thor’s slight annoyance, she exchanges pleasantries with Heimdall before finally turning her attention to him. But instead of greeting him as an old friend should, she instead schools her expression into one of serious reverence. “King Thor,” she says, and bows deeply. “I am honored.”

 

“Stop it.”

 

Freyja laughs delightedly and straightens up before drawing Thor into a hug. “Oh, Thor, I’ve missed you so much! You, I really _haven’t_ seen in ages.” She then pulls back and inspects him with a critical eye. “Have you gotten taller?”

 

“No,” Thor says sourly, “and I haven’t the last several times you’ve come to visit and asked me the same thing.”

 

Freyja just grins and reaches up to give one of his cheeks a soft pinch before turning back to Frigga and holding out an arm. “Shall we?”

 

“We shall,” Frigga replies, winding her arm in Freyja’s. “We have _much_ to discuss since we’ve last spoken.”

 

“Oh?” Freyja asks as they exit the chamber. “Do tell…”

 

“Well, I suppose we’ll see them in a couple of days,” Thor says to his father, though the look on his face is fond.

 

“Hopefully in time for the feast,” Odin replies, and Thor laughs.

 

It has become a widely known rule that they must schedule the feast welcoming Freyja to Asgard a few days after her arrival, rather than the day of. The last time they did not, Freyja and Frigga did not even make an appearance until almost every guest had become thoroughly intoxicated, forgetting whom they were even feasting for in the first place. In response, Freyja only shrugged, and then she and Frigga went back to the queen’s chambers without a word, leaving Odin and Thor dumbfounded.

 

“Follow them if you like, father. I would like to speak with Heimdall for a minute.”

 

“Very well,” Odin acquiesces with a smile, and Thor briefly wonders why that was so easy before he shrugs off his father’s increasingly weird behavior and turns to the gatekeeper.

 

“How is he? Does everything look well with him?”

 

Heimdall turns knowing amber eyes on Thor. “I’m not sure that I should be looking in on the harem right now.”

 

Thor furrows his brows. “Why not?”

 

“They are having beauty evaluations as we speak.”

 

“And?”

 

Heimdall presses his lips together in amusement before explaining, “Evaluations such as these are usually done without the hindrance of clothes.”

 

Thor looks at him blankly until realization dawns. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

 

“But if you really want me to, I –“

 

“ _No_! No, that would be, uh…” Thor clears his throat. “Inappropriate.”

 

Heimdall smiles. “But he is well, my king. In fact, the last time I looked in on him, he seemed to be in better spirits than usual.”

 

Thor remembers back a few nights ago, to Loki’s joy amidst the thunderstorm and the contagious grin on his face, and tries to hold back a smile of his own. “Yes. Good. Well, thank you, Heimdall.”

 

He then clasps Heimdall’s arm before hurrying after his father, trying to think of plans for the feast, reports to draw up for the council — anything but the thought of Loki naked, or the memory of the thin sleep shirt that was plastered to Loki’s wet skin and left little to Thor’s sex-starved imagination.

 

No, the last thing he needs to be thinking about is Loki without any clothes on.

  

* * *

 

“Strip.”

 

Loki gives Skadi a long-suffering look before swiftly pulling his tunic over his head and tossing it aside. Then, without preamble, he unfastens his trousers and shimmies them down over his hips until they fall to the floor, pooling around his feet.

 

“Shy again, are we? Smallclothes, too.”

 

“I’m getting to that,” Loki snaps, glowering at Skadi as he peels off the tiny scrap of fabric.

 

“We might want to work on this for the king,” Skadi murmurs to Balder.

 

“What? Stripping?” Loki cries, horrified.

 

“There are far more attractive ways to take your clothes off –“

 

“Loki, step towards the center of the room, please,” Balder tells him, firmly interrupting Skadi.

 

Loki grits his teeth but does as requested, stepping out of his clothes and forcing himself to stand with his head up and arms down by his side as the bright lighting in the room reveals every so-called imperfection on his naked body.

 

It hits Loki, then, that the harem examination room does not look all that different from the cells inside the dungeon, and he nearly laughs aloud at the realization.

 

Balder and Skadi take turns circling him, Skadi making little scoffs and noises of disapproval while Balder merely hums thoughtfully.

 

“I take it I’m failing,” Loki finally says, trying not to sound as self-conscious as he feels.

 

“Not at all,” Balder says genuinely, coming to stand in front of Loki again. “You are more beautiful than ever.”

 

Loki smiles, unsure but undeniably pleased.

 

“Your hair is shiny and healthy,” Balder continues, “and the current length looks quite nice.”

 

Loki twirls a lock of his hair around one finger and brings it up to eye-level, inspecting it critically. Pleased at the lack of split ends, he then lets the strands fall back against his skin, ending about an inch below his collarbone.

 

From his right side, Skadi holds up Loki’s hand and examines his fingernails before squinting down at his toenails. “Your nails are clean, well-tended to,” is what she finally settles on, and Loki knows that he has her approval — or his nails do, at least.

 

Balder takes another slow turn circling him. “Your skin is near flawless –“

 

“ _Near_?” Loki teases with mock-hurt, and Balder laughs and shakes his head.

 

“Forgive me. Your skin is perfect — even clearer than it was when you first started your skin care regiments. And how you remain this pale after spending so much time in the garden, I’ll never know.”

 

“I’ve never really been able to tan,” Loki replies with a shrug.

 

“But you need to gain weight,” Skadi suddenly says, and just like that, Loki’s good mood is ruined. “You’ve lost a noticeable amount in the past few months; and it’s no wonder, what with all of your pouting and sighing and angst-filled –“

 

“I have not!” Loki protests, though truthfully he has noticed that his ribs do seem a bit more prominent than they used to, his cheekbones a little sharper.

 

“You don’t eat enough,” Balder says, worried. “You haven’t for months –“

 

“I’ll do better,” Loki says. “I… I’m better now.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Balder replies softly, beaming.

 

“King Thor likes his women lean, but also with some curve to them,” Skadi informs Loki. She then lightly pats his ass, and though it is not sexual in any way, Loki still blushes and glares hotly at her.

 

And then a new thought enters Loki’s mind. “What about his men?”

 

When Balder and Skadi exchange awkward looks, Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Are you telling me that the king is not _attracted to_ –“

 

“No,” Balder is quick to say. “Queen Frigga specifically said that intersexed males are to be considered, which must mean –“

 

“But has he ever been with a male — intersexed or not?”

 

This time, Balder hesitates. “Not that we know of.”

 

Loki seethes. “Why didn’t you _tell me_ that?! Did you not think it pertinent to inform me of such a fact?”

 

“Who says we haven’t?” Skadi retorts. “We’ve tried to tell you a great _many_ things, but you haven’t cared to listen… until now, that is.”

 

Loki sighs and crosses his arms, completely and utterly self-conscious again. “Fair enough, as loathe as I am to admit it. But what gives you two the impression that King Thor will even consider me” — Loki cringes — “sexually?”

 

“You are his type –“

 

“Aside from my cock, you mean,” Loki snaps.

 

Skadi glares at him and continues, “Pale, pretty, slender –“

 

“Please, that’s not a type,” Loki argues, rolling his eyes. “What if my type was tan, handsome, and muscular — that would include 90% of Asgard, probably!”

 

“Add blonde hair and a hammer, and that _is_ your type,” Skadi mutters to herself.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“How does he act?” Balder asks. “When you’re with him, I mean. You’ve never really answered our questions about this, but seeing as you’ve recently had a… change of heart, so to speak…”

 

“I don’t know.” Loki looks away. “He is infuriating, mostly.”

 

Balder smiles encouragingly. “In what way?”

 

“He… teases me.” Loki blushes again. “And he laughs at me — about little things, like my hair, or my clothes, or when I get angry with him… He touches me a lot, too.”

 

Balder’s smile hardens. “Where?”

 

“Nowhere inappropriate!” Loki groans and covers his face with his hands, letting the cool skin of his palms soothe his burning cheeks. “Just my neck –“

 

Skadi raises her eyebrows. “Your neck?” 

 

“The nape of it.” Loki continues to speak with his hands covering his face, despite sounding slightly muffled, “He likes to place his hand there… on my waist sometimes, too. And when we walk, he likes to pull me along by my wrist or… hold my hand.”

 

He leaves out, of course, the incident in the stables and the way Thor swatted his behind as one would a child. On fear of pain or death, he will never, ever tell them about that.

 

Even Tyr could not torture it out of him.

 

“What does he call you?” Skadi asks.

 

“Loki.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

Loki reluctantly drops his hands and stares intently at the floor. “Or ‘little sorcerer.’”

 

Skadi snorts, and Loki’s head snaps up. “It isn’t funny!”

 

When Balder and Skadi just stare at him, waiting for more, Loki reluctantly admits, “He confuses me, because one minute he’s laughing at me, and the next he’s looking at me intensely, like he’s trying to figure me out, or with this… soft, strange expression on his face, and –“ Loki cuts himself off with a scowl. “By the Norns, I sound ridiculous.”

 

“Has he said anything odd?” Balder asks, and Loki can tell that he is trying to keep from grinning.

 

“Just that I’m under his protection.” Loki rolls his eyes again and looks off to the side. “He’s told me this twice now! And he says that if someone bothers me in any way, to let him know, and that he’ll take care of them for me… whatever that means. I told him that I don’t need him to fight my battles for me, but he says that he wants to, so…”

 

He looks back at Balder and Skadi, only to find that their eyes are significantly wider than they were before. Balder’s mouth is even hanging open. “What?” Loki cries defensively.

 

Balder’s grin may be slow to form, but it is nothing short of radiant. “Loki, he…”

 

“He what?”

 

“King Thor does not just _vow personal protection,”_ Skadi says slowly, as if she can hardly believe it herself. “In fact, as far as I know… he never has. Certainly not for a commoner… not even for someone outside his family.”

 

“What are you saying?” Loki asks quietly.

 

Skadi’s lips twitch. “Maybe you don’t need to be so worried about the king not liking you, after all.”

 

This time, Loki’s eyes are the ones to widen. “I… no. No way.” He walks back over to his clothes and begins pulling them on without permission. “He doesn’t like me. Not like that, anyway. He thinks of me as a child, clearly, or a pet…” Loki wrinkles his nose. “He’d probably look at me like a… a brother, or something, before _that_ … I’m sure of it!”

 

“Are you?” Skadi drawls, before, “Where are you going? We haven’t excused you yet!”

 

Fully dressed, Loki pauses with a hand on the door handle. “May I be excused?”

 

Balder nods happily. “You may.”

 

“Go eat something!” Skadi orders gruffly on his way out.

 

Loki sighs heavily but obeys, grabbing a pear out of the kitchen before making his way upstairs.

 

“He does not _like_ me,” he mutters under his breath as he heads to his suite. “He… he _can’t_!”

 

He enters his bedroom with every intention of lying about and reading for a while (and not thinking about King Thor), but is startled to find Lorelei lounging on his bed, his current read in her hands.

 

“Lorelei?”

 

“Loki!” Lorelei is quick to spring into a sitting position. “Finally, you’re here!”

 

Loki regards her warily. “What are you doing?”

 

Lorelei holds up his book and looks pointedly between it and Loki with distaste. “What _is_ this?”

 

“It’s Midgardian folk magic,” Loki explains. “Their methods are primitive, to be sure, but the potential –“

 

“And you read this for _fun_? Really?”

 

Loki scowls and walks over to her, holding out his hand in silent demand. Lorelei passes the book to him without protest and pats the space beside her on the bed. “Sit down, won’t you?”

 

“It’s _my_ bed,” Loki mutters, but he places the book on the nightstand before sitting down a respectable distance away from Lorelei, his pear clutched tightly in one hand. “Now tell me what you’re doing in here.”

 

“Did you hear that Lady Freyja has come to Asgard?” Lorelei asks excitedly.

 

“Really?” Loki deadpans.

 

“Apparently some of the girls claim to have overheard two guards talking about it this morning while passing the harem. I don’t know if it’s true, but I –“

 

“Lorelei. What do you want?”

 

Lorelei smiles at him, and while it is not cruel like Glut’s smiles or as shark-like as Amora’s can be, it is no less terrifying in this moment. “I know what you’re doing.”

 

Loki keeps his face carefully blank. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Lorelei rolls her eyes, though she continues to smile. “I’m not stupid, Loki, and neither are you.” Loki swallows as she looks at him thoughtfully. “You’re actually competing now, aren’t you? You _want_ to become queen.”

 

Loki smirks despite his nerves. “Have I been so obvious?”

 

“No,” Lorelei answers after a moment. “Like I said, I’m not stupid, though people often mistake me for it. I’d already noticed how your… concentration has shifted, if you will, but it wasn’t until I watched you with Balder and Skadi in the treasury that I knew for sure.”

 

Loki is silent for a few seconds, trying to process both Lorelei’s frightening change in personality as well as the fact that she has apparently been keeping a close eye on him. He had no idea. “Does anyone else know?”

 

“I doubt it. Everyone else was too busy fighting over that gold headdress.”

 

Loki laughs despite himself. “Gold headdress? And why weren’t you fighting them for it?”

 

Lorelei scoffs indignantly, and suddenly she is back to her old self. “You _must_ be joking. It couldn’t have been more gaudy and tacky!”

 

“And Amora?” Loki asks. “Does she know?”

 

“No.” Lorelei is all smiles again. “Not yet, anyway.”

 

Loki sighs before narrowing his eyes at her. “What do you want?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re not going to tell Amora?”

 

Lorelei just stares at him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head at him. “Loki, Loki, Loki…”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I didn’t come here to blackmail you!”

 

“You didn’t?” Loki asks flatly.

 

“Of course not!” Lorelei exclaims, laughing. “Who do you think I am? Amora?”

 

“Well –“

 

“Don’t answer that,” Lorelei cuts him off sharply, though her smile remains intact. “Unlike my sister, I actually _enjoy_ a little healthy competition!”

 

Loki raises his eyebrows. “You do?”

 

“Sure! I don’t want this to be _too_ easy for me to win. Where’s the fun in that?”

 

In response, Loki takes an obnoxiously large bite out of his pear and nearly chokes with laughter at the appalled look that graces Lorelei’s face when juices fly all over her clothes.

 

“Though now I’m beginning to second-guess your… appeal,” she mutters, eyeing Loki in disgust before composing herself. “Look, I’ve mainly come here to warn you.”

 

Loki pauses mid-chew. “About?”

 

“Amora. I have no interest in blackmailing you, but her? I would count on it.” Loki resumes chewing slowly, remembering back to Amora’s threat to tell Balder and Skadi that he has snuck out of the harem before. “Or if not blackmail, something…” Lorelei grins. “Oh, she is not going to like this _at all_.”

 

“I’ll think of something,” Loki says once he has swallowed.

 

Lorelei brightens even further. “No need! I’ve already thought of it for you.”

 

Loki hesitates. “What is it?”

 

“Dresser drawer — top right.”

 

“Huh?” Lorelei stands without another word. “You mean Amora’s?” Loki tries again. “What’s in there?”

 

Lorelei shrugs. “See for yourself… when she’s not around, obviously.”

 

She then giggles at Loki and waves goodbye before flouncing out of the room, leaving Loki’s mind reeling at this side of Lorelei that he never knew existed.

 

He has never thought her to be stupid — flighty at times, perhaps, and more than a little silly, but never unintelligent. But now he sees her in an entirely new light. Like her sister, Lorelei is a worthy opponent — arguably more so, even, for the fact that she does not appear to be that much of a serious threat.

 

Either way, Lorelei is definitely not one to be trifled with, Loki decides as he finishes what is left of his pear.

 

As soon as Amora goes for her beauty evaluation, Loki sneaks into her bedroom and opens the top right dresser drawer, just as Lorelei suggested, before proceeding to carefully dig through the silken and lace undergarments inside. Once he gets to the bottom of the drawer, he immediately spots what Lorelei must have wanted him to find.

 

“Amora, you naughty girl,” Loki murmurs, grinning, before meticulously arranging everything back into its proper place and making his escape.

 

It looks like Amora is not the only one with potential blackmail material, after all.

 

* * *

  

“Are you looking forward to the feast tonight?” Thor asks late one morning, seated across from Freyja on the wide terrace that overlooks Fensalir.

 

“You all spoil me with these grand feasts in my name every time I visit,” Freyja says with twinkling eyes.

 

“You love it,” Thor is quick to retort.

 

“Guilty as charged.”

 

The comfortable silence that follows is soon interrupted by soft mewls, and Thor laughs as two kittens start rubbing their tiny bodies against his feet. “I can’t believe you smuggled these two into Asgard,” Thor tells Freyja as he scoops up a kitten in each hand, passing one to Freyja and keeping the other in his lap. “You know how Odin feels about that kind of thing.”

 

“First of all, I did not _smuggle_ them in,” Freyja argues, and kisses the top of the kitten’s head before cradling it to her chest. “Their carriers were quite visible next to my luggage, so don’t blame me if you just didn’t notice! And I introduced my new pets to your father yesterday. He fell in love the moment they tried to bite him.”

 

“Where did you even find them?” Thor asks, squinting at the furry creature wriggling in his arms. It is near identical to the other one in size but polar opposite in coloring. While the one Freyja’s holding has grey hair and blue eyes, the one in Thor’s lap has fur that is a peculiar dark blue color, and striking grey eyes. “They are quite… exotic-looking.”

 

“Odr sent them to me as a gift,” Freyja says with a bright smile. “I suppose they come from Svartalfheim, seeing as that’s where he’s been lately.”

 

“Svartalfheim?” Thor tries not to frown too heavily at the mention of Freyja’s so-called husband, but he is sincere when he tells her, “I trust he’s being safe.”

 

“He always is,” Freyja responds, smile somewhat dimmed.

 

“What are their names?” Thor is quick to ask, desperate to bring the conversation back to happier topics.

 

“I’m not sure yet,” Freyja answers, before following up with a defensive, “I’ve only had them for a week!” when Thor gives her a mock-disapproving look. She smiles down at the kitten in her hold and explains, “They’re going to have those names for the rest of their lives, so I want them to be perfect.”

 

As if on cue, both kittens start whining again, and so Thor and Freyja gently release them onto the ground. The two kittens happily reunite and waste no time in darting off to play elsewhere.

 

“They’re cute,” Thor says as they watch them disappear around a corner. “Fussy, but cute.”

 

“Sounds like a certain king I know.”

 

Thor scoffs. “I can’t believe you just compared me to a couple of kittens.”

 

Freyja laughs, but her expression soon begins to sober as she stares at Thor intensely. Thor inwardly sighs, bracing himself for what he knows is to come.

 

“So,” Freyja intones. “Jarnsaxa.”

 

Thor grips the arms of his chair. “Yes. Jarnsaxa.”

 

Even speaking her name aloud is still difficult.

 

Freyja sips daintily at her tea before inquiring, “May I ask what happened?”

 

Thor rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you already know.”

 

“Yes, but I want to hear it from you,” Freyja replies patiently.

 

“I let my men get me drunk, and then I let them talk me into commanding her to… have sex with me. In front of them. She refused, and so I banished her.”

 

Freyja sets her cup of tea down before leveling an annoyed look at him. “Allow me to stop you right there.”

 

“What?” Thor asks with a scowl.

 

“Stop blaming your men for this. I have no doubt that they instigated it, but in the end it was _you_ who agreed to do as they said.” Thor opens his mouth to protest, but Freyja quickly cuts in with, “And don’t blame the alcohol, either. You shouldn’t let yourself get so drunk that you would even _think_ of doing such a disgraceful thing, let alone actually act on such thoughts!”

 

“Then what’s your excuse?” Thor shoots back.

 

Freyja chuckles dryly, but the damage is already done as his words ring in the air.

 

“I… I’m sorry, Freyja,” Thor stresses. “I did not mean that. And I know that none other is to blame for this but myself.”

 

Freyja is quiet for a moment, eyes still hard. But she eventually softens and asks, “Thor, I’ve seen you drunk. You can be crude, sometimes lecherous, even — but never cruel, never dishonorable. What happened? Truly?”

 

“Truly?” Thor echoes, and Freyja nods, leaning forward in her chair.

 

“We had been… growing apart” — Thor swallows — “for a very long time.”

 

“How long?” Freyja asks.

 

“I can’t remember.” Thor snorts disdainfully. “Right after our wedding?” He looks out over Fensalir and continues, “She quickly became very unhappy… both of us did. With me trying to be king — and not doing a very good job of it — and her trying to be queen…” He looks back at Freyja. “I don’t think it was quite how she imagined it would be, which is also my fault. Our romance was a passionate affair, and not very grounded in reality. I didn’t prepare her for it… for royal life.”

 

“Did you love her?”

 

“I thought I did, once.” Thor smiles grimly. “But I don’t think I even knew what love was at the time. And neither did she, I suspect. The night of her banishment… we had not copulated in months… we had barely even _seen_ each other in months, let alone touched one another.”

 

“Oh, Thor.” Freyja gently takes his hand in hers. She does not criticize, but neither does she waste time with condolences, which is another thing that Thor has always appreciated about her.

 

After squeezing his hand, Freyja leans back in her chair and takes up her tea again.

 

“How can you drink that?” Thor asks with a grimace, his nose sensitive to the aroma of the strong, bitter herbs that make up Freyja’s beverage.

 

“It’s delicious!” Freyja exclaims. “ _And_ it’s healthy, something you know very little about.”

 

“What do you know of health?” Thor teases. “You, who abstains from meat.”

 

“A healthy, valid choice.”

 

Thor shakes his head. “It is unnatural!”

 

“And what if your future queen does not partake of animal flesh?” Freyja counters with a grin.

 

Thor matches her grin with one of his own. “Impossible.” And then, “I would never marry such a person.”

  

* * *

  

“That is disgusting.”

 

Skadi moans sinfully around her bite of steak in response, much to Loki’s horror, who has the displeasure of being seated across from her at dinner.

 

He swears that she is doing this on purpose.

 

“How is that safe?” Loki cries, looking at the meat on her plate. “It’s still red on the inside!”

 

Skadi’s lips twitch. “That’s the blood.”

 

“That is _disgusting_!” Loki repeats.

 

Skadi cuts off a small piece of steak and waves it in front of Loki’s face. “Want some?”

 

“No! Eww!” Loki squeals, rearing back in his chair to get away from it.

 

“What’s wrong? Is it the color?” Skadi asks innocently. “I assure you, that’s what makes it so –“

 

“Get that out of my face, or –“

 

“Leave him be, Skadi.”

 

“Yes, leave me be!”

 

Skadi sighs but does as requested, and Loki sends Balder a grateful smile.

 

A few chairs down, Amora sends Balder a grateful smile, too; and then she throws Loki a significant look before returning her attention to her own food.

 

Loki silently fumes at her but does not rise to the bait. After all, Amora has it coming to her, and soon. In matters of blackmail, timing is key; and the only thing holding Loki back is deciding on the best moment to act against her.

 

“I wish I could go to the feast tonight,” Sigyn confides to Loki from beside him, stealing his attention away from Amora. “I’ve always wanted to attend one… my mother” — here, Sigyn’s bright smile falters a bit — “says they’re noisy and crowded and ultimately dull, but I think they sound amazing.”

 

“I’m sure they are,” Loki tells her to be kind. He then smiles at her. “And I can just imagine you at one, wearing a beautiful dress and dancing with a handsome young warrior…”

 

“Oh, stop,” Sigyn says, though the pleased blush on her face says otherwise. “And what of you? Who would you dance with at a royal feast?”

 

King Thor’s broad shoulders and muscular arms come to mind, but Loki pushes those thoughts away before the nausea can set in and nudges Sigyn with his shoulder. “Who do you think?”

 

Sigyn giggles and goes to respond, but then falls into a curious silence along with everyone else as a harem attendant steps inside the dining room.

 

“Yes?” Balder prompts.

 

“Angrboda is in the main hall,” the attendant informs him and Skadi, and Loki nearly gasps.

 

“Tell him that Loki will join him soon,” Skadi orders, and the attendant bows his head before leaving to do as instructed.

 

Loki bites on his tongue, face carefully blank as he looks down at the assortment of vegetables and rice on his plate. Suddenly, he is no longer hungry.

 

“Loki,” Balder says with a smile, and Loki’s head snaps up. “Go to him.”

 

“He needs to finish his meal,” Skadi interjects, glaring at Balder, but she makes no orders for him to do so.

 

It takes only a second, and then Loki sends them both a grateful nod and departs without a word.

 

When he sees Angrboda pacing in the main hall, Loki finds himself hanging back instead of running to greet him as he normally would. He is relieved to see his uncle, yes, but he is also angry; and anger is the dominant emotion coursing through Loki as he looks upon his obviously safe and healthy-looking uncle — the same uncle who has not come to see him in almost a month.

 

Before he can decide whether or not to go to him, Angrboda turns and notices him. “My sweet nephew,” he cries, moving in his direction. His steps falter, however, when he sees that Loki does not move to greet him in return. “Loki?”

 

Loki says nothing, but he motions for Angrboda to follow him before heading upstairs. It is not until Loki’s bedroom door is securely shut that Loki rounds on him with a vengeance. “Where have you _been_?”

 

“I –“

 

“It’s been _weeks_ since you’ve shown your face!” Loki snarls. “You never even sent word… I wouldn’t have known what’d happened to you had Eir not had the _decency_ to tell Balder that you took a leave from work… decency that you so obviously lack!”

 

Angrboda takes a step towards him. “Loki, please –“

 

“How could you? How could you just _leave_ me like that? I… I’ve been so alone…” Loki blinks back tears and turns away, unable to look at his uncle anymore.

 

He hears Angrboda approach him carefully, as if Loki is a wild animal that may lash out at any given moment; but soon a pair of familiar arms wrap gently around his shaking form.

 

“Don’t touch me!” Loki cries, but he does not physically fight his uncle from turning him in his arms and cradling Loki’s head to his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Angrboda whispers. Then, a little louder, “I’m so, so sorry, Loki. My sweet nephew.”

 

Loki just closes his eyes against the fabric of Angrboda’s shirt, still refusing to look up at his uncle though he clutches at him shamelessly.

 

“I would never, _ever_ leave you,” Angrboda swears. “Do you hear me? _Never_.”

 

Eventually, Loki calms down and pulls away from Angrboda, meeting his eyes dead on. “Where have you been?”

 

Angrboda’s eyes light up dangerously. “Researching.”

 

Loki’s brows furrow. “Researching? Uncle, what –“

 

“Give me your hand,” Angrboda requests, though he does not give Loki time to decide before he grasps his nephew’s right hand in both of his. Then, without further explanation, he begins chanting under his breath, using words and syllables that even Loki does not know the meaning of.

 

Though he desperately wants to question Angrboda, Loki remains silent and lets him work, knowing better than to interrupt him at a time like this.

 

However, he will soon wish that he had, for as soon as the final syllable leaves Angrboda’s lips, the golden bracelet adorning his right wrist falls onto the ground, barely making a sound as it hits the carpet beneath their feet.

 

Suddenly, half of the magic that has been sealed inside Loki’s body begins to pour out of him in a green mist, and he briefly sways on his feet as he tries to get used to sensations he has not felt in months.

 

It is like he can halfway breathe again.

 

“I’ve got you,” Angrboda soothes, holding him steadily by his upper arms. The smile on his face is pleased and hopeful, though it slowly begins to fade as Loki looks up at him with wide-eyed horror.

 

Shakily, Loki whispers, “What have you done?”

 

Then the fury sets in.

 

“Loki, I –“

 

“ _What have you done_?!” Loki all but screams, pushing his uncle away from him.

 

“Be _quiet_ , or someone will hear you!” Angrboda hisses, though his eyes still look fearful of his nephew’s wrath.

 

“I’d finally gotten _somewhat_ used to them being on,” Loki says slowly, trembling with rage. “And now… How could you do this to me?!”

 

“What are you talking about? Don’t you see?” Angrboda asks, smiling tentatively again. “We can escape now!”

 

“Why?” Loki demands. “Why now? It was _you_ who wanted me to wait this out, to purposefully _not_ get chosen –“

 

“That’s no longer such an improbability,” Angrboda mutters, a dark look passing over his face.

 

“What?”

 

“It… it is nothing…”

 

“No, tell me what you meant,” Loki orders.

 

Angrboda hesitates for a few moments, until, “The king is interested in you.”

 

Loki blanches, breath stolen from his lungs.

 

“I should’ve known this would happen,” Angrboda rants. “You are more beautiful and charming and intelligent than all of the other contestants combined — _of course_ the king would notice you! I… I was in denial, I had hoped –“

 

“How do you know this?”

 

“Hoenir,” Angrboda confesses. “I… had words with him, after you were dragged into the weapons vault that night –“

 

“Uncle, no,” Loki cries, worry overtaking his features.

 

“It’s all right,” Angrboda assures him. “He was… understanding, and much kinder than he had to be.” He pauses, swallowing. “When I came to my senses and realized what I was doing, I begged him not to punish you for telling me what had happened that night, and he told me…”

 

“He told you what?” Loki presses urgently.

 

Angrboda is slow to answer. “He told me that anyone who wished to punish you would have to go through King Thor first; and that, like with Queen Frigga, you have captured King Thor’s attention.” Angrboda rolls his eyes and reluctantly adds, “And the _way_ he said it left no room for interpretation.”

 

Loki’s breath catches in his throat again. He looks away, his mind furiously trying to process everything.

 

“I would have told you sooner,” Angrboda explains, “but I was so upset, so _scared_ , that I knew I had to do something –“

 

“Put it back on.”

 

Angrboda stops speaking abruptly.

 

“The bracelet,” Loki clarifies, before Angrboda can question him. He looks back at his uncle with hard determination. “Put it back on me _now_.”

 

“No!” And then, “Why –“

 

Loki quickly snatches up the bracelet from the floor and slides it around his wrist.

 

“Loki, stop!”

 

But it is too late, as the bracelet snaps into place almost immediately, sealing off the rest of his magic.

 

Somehow, it is even harder to bear this time.

 

“Loki, why did you do that?” Angrboda asks angrily, already reaching for his wrist again. Loki swiftly hides them behind his back, causing Angrboda to scowl at him. “We can’t waste anymore time. The feast is just starting, so now is the best time for us to go!“

 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Angrboda freezes again. “What? What do you mean?”

 

Instead of responding right away, Loki walks over to the window and gazes out at the beautiful swirl of colors produced by the rapidly setting sun, trying to gather the courage to answer. It takes a while, but eventually, “I’m going to try to become queen. To help Jotunheim.”

 

Several long seconds follow in silence. Loki looks over his shoulder at Angrboda, only to find his uncle frozen in place, his mouth set in a thin, angry line.

 

“This isn’t funny, Loki,” he finally says, eyes flashing.

 

“I’m not joking,” Loki replies. He turns back towards the window again. “I’ve been given an incredible opportunity here, to help my people in a way that no one else could.” A small bird flies by in the distance, a speck of black against the pink and orange sky, and Loki smiles faintly. “What kind of Jotun would I be — what kind of brother, what kind of _prince_ — if I did not take advantage of it?”

 

Angrboda does not answer, and when Loki gathers the courage to face him again, his heart lurches painfully at the tears present in his uncle’s eyes.

 

“After seeing the Casket, I –“

 

“Is that it?” Angrboda snaps. “Is that your plan?”

 

Loki’s brows furrow. “What?”

 

“You want to steal the Casket.”

 

“No!” Loki cries.

 

Angrboda huffs out a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head. “You think that won’t lead to another _war_?”

 

“Of course not!” Loki insists, hands on his hips. “That isn’t my plan.”

 

“Then what is?” Angrboda demands, an uncharacteristically mean smile creeping onto his face. “You’re _Loki_. You always have a plan, don’t you?” When Loki hesitates, he lets out a longer, more hysterical laugh. “You don’t!”

 

“Stop it,” Loki hisses. “You heard about the six charges of murder handed down to the traitor, didn’t you? How King Thor charged him with the murder of the two Jotuns?” He does not give Angrboda time to answer. “It’s all because of me! I did that!”

 

“What?” Angrboda cries, looking at Loki as if he is insane.

 

“He was going to charge him with four murders until I called him out on it,” Loki explains. He pauses, and his lips curl into a small smile before he can stop them. “I never even dreamed that he would listen to me, let alone _act_ on it…”

 

“Oh, so _that’s_ it,” Angrboda says lowly. “You _like_ him.”

 

And now Loki looks at Angrboda as if he is the insane one. “ _What_?”

 

“You have feelings for the king,” Angrboda accuses. “You… you desire him!”

 

Loki reels, momentarily too stunned to answer. His hands fall uselessly at his sides.

 

“He’s seduced you already, hasn’t he?” Angrboda snarls. He looks murderous, though Loki knows that it is not towards him. “Has he… has he touched you?”

 

“Uncle, _enough_!” To Loki’s dismay, he feels blood rush to his face, but he quickly steps back over to Angrboda and places his hands on his uncle’s forearms before continuing, “It’s not like that. And he hasn’t done anything… I swear! It’s just… if I can improve things for Jotunheim, even if only a little, as queen of Asgard… then it will be worth it.” Angrboda just stares at him. “Right?”

 

“King Thor has been taught to hate the Jotnar his entire life,” Angrboda stresses. “Do you honestly think that you can just _change_ that?”

 

“…Maybe!”

 

Angrboda scoffs, and Loki crosses his arms self-consciously. “I don’t know. But I have to try.”

 

Then, to his surprise, Angrboda smiles at him. “Oh, my sweet nephew.” He cups Loki’s cheek gently with one hand. “You never cease to amaze me.”

 

Before Loki can tentatively smile back, Angrboda follows up with, “But you are _naïve._ ”

 

Loki slaps Angrboda’s hand away and takes a step back. “Why must you speak to me as if I’m still a child?”

 

“Because you are still a child!” Angrboda nearly roars. “You are _my_ child!”

 

“I am your _prince_ ,” Loki snarls, and immediately regrets it when Angrboda’s jaw snaps shut, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

 

“You’re right,” Angrboda says, much quieter than before. He looks at Loki as if he is a stranger. “You are my prince.”

 

Loki wants to retract his statement, apologize, promise Angrboda that he will always be his nephew — his child — first.

 

“Look, I –“

 

“Even if you get away with it, _my prince_ ,” Angrboda cuts in sharply, and Loki flinches at the vitriol in his tone, “you will be trapped here _forever_. You will _never_ get to be with your brothers, with your true people!” He scoffs at Loki’s bracelets. “Even if they give you back your magic, you will still be a prisoner.”

 

“Uncle –“

 

“And that’s _if_ you get away with it. What happens when you birth the king a child, pray tell?”

 

Loki pauses, and Angrboda lets out a weak, derisive laugh. “You haven’t thought of that, have you?” He gives Loki no room to answer. “What if it comes out _blue_?!”

 

“I’ll use a glamour! And perhaps she or he will be a shape-shifter –“

 

“Loki. You will be found out.” More tears finally break free of Angrboda’s lashes and begin trailing down his face. “You will be tortured, executed, and made an example of in front of the entire nine realms for the _humiliation_ you will have caused Asgard!”

 

“Uncle,” Loki pleads.

 

“What they did to this traitor is _nothing_ compared to what they will do to you,” Angrboda continues furiously. “And what will happen then? Surely King Thor will wage another war with Jotunheim for the crimes their youngest prince has committed against them! He’ll probably think that your brothers were in on it, too!“

 

“That’s not going to happen! I won’t let it!” Then, softer, “I… I have to do this, uncle. I have to _try_.”

 

Another period of silence occurs as Loki and Angrboda stare each other down, both tense as if preparing for the other to strike. It hits Loki, then, how much things have changed between them — how they have switched places, in a sense. Angrboda is the one who is crying, now, who is openly scared and horrified and in need of comfort. Loki, on the other hand, is steady, strong, and determined.

 

There are no tears to be found in his eyes.

 

“I will not support you in this,” Angrboda finally says, mouth set firmly again. “I won’t.”

 

“All right,” Loki says quietly, for lack of anything better to say.

 

Angrboda runs a hand over his face, wiping away his tears. Then, without looking at Loki, he gives a terse nod and departs, slamming the door behind him.

 

Loki still does not cry, but nor does he feel much of anything at all.

 

* * *

  

Angrboda stalks out of Loki’s suite, furiously blinking back fresh tears.

 

As usual, it is not Loki whom he is angry at — it is Asgard, Balder and Skadi, Hoenir, and everyone who has prodded and manipulated Loki into thinking that this could be good for him, that he has a chance at becoming queen (and he does. Angrboda knows it, has always known, but he wanted so badly for his nephew to not catch the eye of the king that he had convinced himself that it could never happen.)

 

He is angry at King Thor, too — no, he is more than angry, he is absolutely enraged at the man. Though he can tell that Loki is not actually aware of it himself, it is obvious to Angrboda that his nephew is somewhat taken with the king as well.

 

Angrboda slows his pace as he walks back down the stairs, thinking back to his last couple of visits with Loki and how whenever the king would come up, the slightest blush would bloom across Loki’s cheeks. He would then either snarl and complain about the king for a while or bite at his lip, as if to keep from smiling, before quickly changing the subject.

 

Loki has never acted like this before, has never really had any type of infatuation with a boy or a girl to Angrboda’s knowledge. It makes sense, then, that his sweet, naïve nephew would be unaware of it even now.

 

But still, Angrboda knows that Loki’s change of heart has nothing to with his own desires, whatever those may or may not be.

 

And perhaps that is truly the worst part of all of this. Were Loki being driven by selfish ambition, Angrboda might have a better chance of talking him out of this. But clearly, it is something more than that; and Loki is nothing if not stubborn.

 

He is stubborn, and capricious and strong and independent and smarter than anyone Angrboda knows. He is royalty, a prince, the son of a wise king and a powerful warrior, a child of wind and lightning and ice.

 

He is of the air, and he is destined for greatness, just as his sire always said he would be.

 

On that note, Angrboda pauses on the last step, one hand clutched around the railing so tightly that his knuckles turn white. It only takes him a few seconds before he is rushing back up the stairs and throwing the door open to Loki’s bedroom, visibly startling his nephew.

 

“Uncle?”

 

“I promised I’d never leave you,” Angrboda explains, tears freely flowing again.

 

This time, Loki is the first one to throw his arms around him, and Angrboda sobs into his sweet nephew’s hair as they hold one another.

 

* * *

 

Feasts in Asgard are the pinnacle of social gatherings and celebrations.

 

Holidays, turn of the seasons, important birthdays and funerals, impressive victories and killings — it does not take much to convince the people of Asgard that a feast is in order.

 

And by implied order of the queen, the palace turns out its absolute best for every feast in Freyja’s name — the best food, the best drinks, and the best musicians and entertainers. The people wear their best clothing, too, refusing to be too terribly outdone by the fashionable Lady Freyja and her legendary sense of style.

 

Tonight is certainly no exception, but while sitting at the head of the high table, surrounded by his closest friends and drinking the best mead Asgard has to offer — Thor finds himself completely, terribly bored.

 

When he was little, few things excited him more than the prospect of getting to attend a feast. He would lie in his bed, unable to sleep because of the music and the laughter and the clanking of tankards and chalices that seemed to echo throughout the entire palace, before finally surrendering to his rebellious urges and sneaking downstairs to get a closer look; though it would not take too long before Frigga or one of her handmaidens would spot him and take him back upstairs. As mad as it made him, it was always done out of mercy, as Thor found out the year that Odin caught him instead and dragged him out by the ear, loudly lecturing while Thor kicked and wailed and made of a spectacle of himself. Needless to say, that was the last time Thor ever attended a feast without permission.

 

Years later, when he was finally allowed to start attending, Thor would sit at the high table by his father, drink water that he pretended was mead, and listen eagerly to the songs sung and tales told of Asgard’s legendary warriors until his mother forced him to go to bed, where he would then dream of someday being the greatest of those warriors, one whom countless feasts would be dedicated to.

 

Now, having long-since achieved his childhood dreams, Thor is starting to tire of it all. He still enjoys the mead, the camaraderie, and the entertainment; but it is as if something is missing. And as he slumps down a little in his chair, halfway listening to the tale Fandral is currently spinning for their end of the table, Thor wonders what exactly that missing element is — and why he has not noticed it before.

 

But then again, Thor thinks with a frown, he has noticed that something is missing for a few years now; he has just never been sober enough at a feast to reflect on it properly.

 

“Are you all right?” Sif murmurs from his right side, though not softly enough for Freyja, on his left, to miss it.

 

They both look at him with concern, and Thor smiles tiredly at them. “I am fine. Really.”

 

Truthfully, he wishes he would have just retired a few hours earlier when his parents did. But he is the reigning king now, and it is an unspoken rule that he is not to leave any celebration early for an unimportant reason, as his father likes to smugly remind him.

 

“Why don’t you dance with someone?” Freyja recommends, which unfortunately catches Fandral’s attention.

 

“Yes, won’t Queen Frigga at least allow you to dance, if nothing else?” he teases, and Sif tries her best to hold back a smile while Freyja lightly chokes on her iced water.

 

Ignoring their teasing, Thor looks out over the crowd of dancers, taking note of the pretty maidens held in the arms of young warriors, faces pink and smiles bright as they are twirled around the room.

 

He thinks of Loki, then; pictures Loki’s arms around his neck, his hands on Loki’s waist — and then promptly throws back the rest of his mead.

 

“I’m not interested,” he says, in a tone that leaves no room for discussion.

 

He is partially aware of Sif saying something else to him, but his attention is suddenly drawn to Njord and Vinar, two of his advisors, who are currently leaving the banquet hall together with their heads ducked low, lips moving in hushed conversation.

 

Thor frowns. It is a bit early for either of them to be leaving — unlike Hoenir or Tyr, who tend to rarely stay at feasts for very long — and to see them leaving together is odd. They are not exactly friends, to Thor’s knowledge — not if their occasional bickering during council meetings is anything to go by, at least. But then Thor recalls how Njord has been agreeing with Tyr on all things Svartalfheim as of late, even if he is not nearly as vocal as Tyr is. Vinar, on the other hand, has been silent on the matter, like most of the other advisors; but Thor is also well aware that Vinar holds a hatred for the Jotnar that could possibly stand up to Tyr’s, thanks to the gruesome death of his father in the Great War.

 

Thor is confident that Tyr, though occasionally blinded by his hatred and obsession, means well with his concerns; but a deep, unsettling feeling builds in his gut as he thinks of Njord and Vinar, and what they could possibly be doing or planning together.

 

His thoughts are then interrupted by Sif waving her hand in front of his face. “Uh, Thor?”

 

“…I’ll be right back,” Thor says, standing.

 

“Where are you going?” Freyja asks. Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg also look up at him expectantly.

 

“Just to get some fresh air.” He smiles at them reassuringly. “Don’t worry, my friends; I will return shortly.”

 

“See that you do,” Volstagg slurs before launching into a story of his own.

 

Thor leaves them to their mead and laughter and slips out into the hallway as surreptitiously as a king of Asgard can. He sees no sign of the two men he seeks to follow, and so after a moment’s deliberation, he chooses to go to the right, straight through the one of the guest entrances and outside onto the palace grounds. He purposefully walks along the pathway that leads to the stables, thinking that perhaps they are leaving the grounds all together; but just as he passes the back of the harem, his feet come to a sudden halt before he can stop them.

 

He looks over at the building, noting the absence of light in each window, and then at the emptiness of the garden. He wonders what Loki is doing right now.

 

Then he scowls at himself. Loki is probably sound asleep, as he should be.

 

But then his trained eyes notice a dark mass up in one of the taller garden trees, just barely visible through the leaves from this angle. Thor quietly moves closer to the wall, trying to get a better view of whatever is up there.

 

Once he identifies it, he nearly laughs out loud.

 

Of course it would be Loki.

 

He is mostly hidden in shadow, but Thor can just make out the lines of his body, the way he is curled up with his knees hugged to his chest, face looking out blankly towards the direction of the stables. If nothing else, the visible skin of his face and hands are recognizable enough — Thor has never seen such pale skin glow so attractively in the darkness before.

 

When Loki does not move after nearly a minute, Thor wonders what he is even doing up there. He does not appear to be up to mischief; if anything, Thor thinks he can detect sadness in Loki’s face, though he hears no sounds of crying.

 

Either way, the thought of Loki sitting up there alone and sad, especially when he could be sleeping, does not sit well with Thor at all.

 

And then he remembers Njord and Vinar; but they are most likely long gone by now. He could always question some of the guards on patrol at this hour, but the last thing Thor wants to do is raise suspicion when there is most likely no need for it. Besides, it is probably just a coincidence that they chose to leave at the same time, Thor tells himself.

 

With that firmly settled, Thor refocuses all of his attention on Loki and smiles.

 

Perhaps his night does not have to be so boring, after all.

  

* * *

  

Angrboda did not leave until well after dinner had ended and Loki’s suitemates had gone to sleep. Loki had expected Balder or Skadi to come evict him at some point, but nobody once bothered them.

 

They sat on Loki’s bed and talked for hours, which mainly consisted of Angrboda crying and Loki trying to comfort him. It was exhausting and painful, and though a selfish part of him shudders at the thought of being left in Asgard alone, Loki mostly just wishes that he could convince Angrboda to return to Jotunheim, for his safety.

 

But Angrboda is nothing if not stubborn, Loki thinks with a fond roll of his eyes. He simply will not leave Loki.

 

Despite how tired his uncle’s visit made him, too many thoughts were racing through his mind for him to fall asleep immediately after, which is why he sits in his favorite tree now, somewhat listening to the festivities going on inside the palace and absentmindedly watching guests occasionally come and go from the feast.

 

At one point, he witnesses four strange men skulking by the harem and towards the east woods, piquing his curiosity; but then more of Angrboda’s words from before echo back at him, and he becomes distracted once again.

 

The truth is, his uncle did bring up a point that Loki had not fully considered yet, embarrassed as he is to admit it — children.

 

More specifically, birthing one.

 

Even with other, more glaring concerns aside, Loki knows only the basics of pregnancy and childbirth; and what he does know sounds like something out of his worst nightmares. He has never wanted to produce a child of his own, anyway, be it siring one or bearing it.

 

But there is plenty of time before he has to worry about that, Loki decides — if he even has to worry about it at all.

 

Despite what Balder and Skadi or Hoenir and his uncle think, Loki is still not convinced that Thor is interested in him in that way. If he were, he would not laugh at Loki or tease him so much, surely.

 

Loki may have zero experience in such matters, but even he knows that.

 

In fact, if Loki had to bet right now, he would say that he is literally the last thing on King Thor’s mind at this particular point in time.

 

“A little late to be climbing trees, is it not?”

 

It takes Loki a moment to shake out of his stupor, but when he does, he looks down to see King Thor on the other side of the garden wall, head craned up to look at him. 

  

Loki nearly falls out of the tree in shock.

 

“Careful!” Thor calls out, and Loki quickly motions for him to be quiet before climbing down, his heart racing.

 

Halfway down, he realizes with an aggravated groan that he more underdressed in front of the king than he ever has been, wearing only his thin sleep shirt, leggings, and slippers. Yes, there is no way that Thor could find him attractive dressed like this, he thinks moodily.

 

Once on the ground, he walks over to a part of the wall where he knows a small blind spot exists, hidden perfectly from the harem windows thanks to a few convenient trees. From the other side, Thor mimics him, and Loki watches in bewilderment as the king casually rests his heavy forearms atop the wall before smiling at Loki. “Hello.”

 

“Your majesty,” Loki says shyly.

 

Thor peeks over his own shoulder before looking at Loki again.  “You’ll let me know if someone appears behind me, won’t you? It wouldn’t do well for me to get caught like this, if you know what I mean.”

 

“As long as you’ll do the same for me,” Loki replies, which makes Thor laugh.

 

As Thor seems content to just gaze at him, eyes bright and lips upturned, Loki begins to feel as if he is in an alternate reality, or a dream. Here he is, standing in front of the king and having what is so far a casual conversation — if one could even call it that — for no apparent reason. Without the urgency and clear sense of purpose of their past meetings, Loki finds himself incredibly nervous and unsure of what to say or how to act.

 

But then Thor asks, “Why aren’t you in bed where you’re supposed to be?” in a patronizing tone, and Loki’s nerves fly away in the face of his indignity.

 

“Why are you out here instead of feasting with your people?”

 

“Answer my question,” Thor commands, though the smirk playing on his lips lightens his tone.

 

“Because I don’t want to be,” Loki replies through gritted teeth.

 

“You’re supposed to be obeying Balder and Skadi,” Thor tells him, “and I seriously doubt they’d be happy if they knew you were out here at this hour.”

 

“They never said I couldn’t be!” Loki argues. “As long as I stay within the harem grounds –“

 

Thor interrupts him with an eyebrow raise and a deepening smirk, and Loki scowls at him.

 

“You just can’t do as you’re told, can you?” Thor asks, amused.

 

“Depends on what I’m told to do,” Loki retorts.

 

Thor leers at him, then, and Loki furrows his brows, confused as to what just happened.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he finally asks, sounding younger than he meant to.

 

Thor pauses. “You asked me why I’m out here,” he says, in lieu of answering. Loki nods, leaning forward. “I needed some fresh air. Some space… quiet.”

 

“King Thor doesn’t enjoy feasts?” Loki asks with a teasing lilt, which makes Thor grin. “Why, that goes against everything I’ve ever heard about you.”

 

“I don’t know… I must be getting old, because the feasts are not nearly as exciting to me as they used to be. I still enjoy them, but in more moderation, I suppose.” Thor smirks again. “Unless they’re purely in celebration of me, of course.”

 

“Oh yes, of course,” Loki says with an eye roll, though he smiles back at Thor.

 

Carefully, he curves his palms along the edge of the wall, letting his fingertips rest mere inches away from Thor’s forearms. He cannot help but eye those forearms for a moment, too — bare and tanned, with only a light spattering of blonde hair covering them. He figures that they are probably not that much smaller than Loki’s biceps, though infinitely more chiseled and undoubtedly stronger than all of Loki’s muscles combined.

 

Loki thinks that he should be annoyed, and he is, to a degree; but if he is being honest, he is mostly just in awe. Even with a thick wall between them, Thor’s sheer physicality still manages to be overwhelming for Loki.

 

Once he realizes that he has stared too long, he looks back up and finds that Thor is still smirking at him, clearly pleased at the extra attention. Loki blushes, embarrassed, but thankfully Thor does not comment on it. “How did your beauty evaluation go?” he asks instead.

 

Loki raises his eyebrows in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

 

Thor’s smile slowly fades, and he seems to flounder for a moment, which only adds to Loki’s ever-growing confusion. “Balder told me about them,” he finally says.

 

“I see,” Loki says slowly, eyeing Thor strangely. “And to answer your question, it went well. I passed, I think.”

 

“Oh, of that I had no doubt,” Thor tells him matter-of-factly, handsome smile back in place.

 

Loki falters, his blush deepening as he considers the possible implications behind Thor’s words; but he is quick to push them to the back of his mind for later.

 

“So how are things with you?” he asks, crossing one foot behind him and pushing a lock of hair behind one ear. “Any weapons vault break-ins lately?”

 

Thor’s eyes, which had followed the movement of his hair, snap back to meet Loki’s gaze once his words seem to register. He gives Loki a disapproving look, then, and Loki smiles impishly in return.

 

But then Thor surprises him. “It has been quiet,” he says lowly, and Loki definitely hears the implications behind his words this time.

 

Too quiet.

 

“You think they are planning another attack?”

 

Thor huffs. “I don’t know. Possibly. I hope to expose them before that happens, though.”

 

“You will,” Loki states firmly. “You have quite the advantage, after all.”

 

“Oh? And what is that?” Thor questions, obviously expecting praise.

 

“Me.”

 

Thor looks briefly surprised before grinning. “Ah, there’s that arrogance.”

 

Loki bristles, straightening his stance and gripping onto the wall tighter. “I still can’t believe that _you_ , of _all people_ , have the _nerve_ to go around calling anyone else _arrogant_ –“

 

Loki cuts himself off abruptly as Thor’s grin only widens. “And that sharp tongue, too,” Thor adds, leaning in as if to crowd Loki, as if there is no wall between them. “Took you long enough.”

 

“…You –“

 

“Careful, little sorcerer,” Thor intones, though the look on his face seems to be encouraging Loki.

 

Flustered, Loki is wondering how to respond when someone calls out, “Thor?” Thor’s grin slips right off his face just as Loki’s eyes widen, and they both pull away from the wall a little and look around frantically. “Where are you?”

 

“Hogun,” Thor mutters before they even see who it is, clearly annoyed.

 

Loki’s eyes widen further. “Hogun… you mean of the Warriors –“

 

“Three, yes.”

 

And then the man in question steps into view just beyond Thor’s shoulder, and Loki quickly recognizes him as one of the four people who laughed at him along with Thor, all of those months ago when they caught Loki dancing in the garden. The exact same friends had also accompanied Thor when he and Loki had their little stare-down the morning after their confrontation in the stables, Loki remembers with an internal sigh.

 

Three men and a woman, obviously close companions of the king — Loki should have known, really.

 

“Thor?” Hogun questions again, more warily this time as he halts a good distance away from them.

 

“I’m coming!” Thor calls back without taking his eyes off Loki.

 

He reaches a hand up, as if to touch Loki; and Loki forces himself to stay still, to breathe.

 

But ultimately Thor seems to think better of it and lets his hand fall back, smiling softly at Loki instead. “Go back inside, Loki. Go to sleep.”

 

Loki draws himself up again. “But I’m not –“

 

“That’s an order.” Loki glares at him again, but Thor just returns it with a smirk. “Until next time, little sorcerer,” he promises with a wink before turning and walking over to his friend.

 

“…What?” Loki whispers to himself, even more bewildered than before.

 

He stands there awkwardly for a moment and watches, unthinking, as Thor throws an arm around Hogun and begins to walk with him back towards the palace.

 

And then Hogun looks back over his shoulder at Loki, a suspicious, considering look on his face. Loki’s eyes widen in response, and he quickly turns away and all but runs back inside the harem.

 

* * *

  

“Not a word,” Thor says before Hogun can open his mouth.

 

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

 

“It’s… it’s not what it looks like…”

 

“I make no assumptions.”

 

“Good,” Thor replies. And then, “I haven’t forgotten my promise to fill all of you in. I will, just… not tonight.”

 

“All right.”

 

Thor squeezes his shoulders. “I knew there was a reason I liked you best.”

 

This, Hogun does give him a withering look for, but Thor just laughs and leads them both back inside the palace.

 

* * *

  

“Confounding, irritating man,” Loki mutters angrily as he paces around his darkened bedroom.

                                                                                    

Every confrontation with Thor becomes even more confusing than the last. One moment, he is kind, full of praise for Loki’s skills and offering him his protection, whatever that means; and the next, he is rude and arrogant and making fun of Loki.

 

The most baffling part of this latest confrontation, in Loki’s opinion, was when Thor said he had no doubt that Loki would pass his beauty evaluation.

 

Which could imply, Loki deduces, that the king — perhaps — finds Loki to be beautiful.

 

Loki pauses, frowning. He must have meant it objectively.

 

After all, Loki finds Svadilfari to be a beautiful horse, but that does not mean he has romantic feelings for his four-legged friend.

 

But even if Thor does find Loki beautiful — objectively speaking — that certainly does not mean that he finds him desirable, too.

 

Before he knows it, Loki is stripping down in front of his mirror, examining his moonlit reflection with a critical eye.

 

He hums, turning and looking over every angle he can, occasionally grimacing as he takes in his figure. It is, as Balder once told him, an intriguing mix of masculinity and femininity, made up of hard lines as well as soft curves.

 

But despite how slender he is, there is no denying that his shoulders are broader than any maiden’s, narrow still as they are — especially compared to one such as Thor. And of course there is the most glaring problem of all: his flat chest.

 

And his cock. One cannot forget about that, Loki thinks with annoyance.

 

But then a more horrifying possibility crosses Loki’s mind: if the king really is attracted to the male form, then perhaps he actually desires broad, muscular men, much like the warriors he commands in battle. His tastes may even lie in men just as masculine as himself, if not more so — though it is hard for Loki to imagine a man more masculine than Thor.

 

Loki sweeps his eyes over his body again and groans. If that is the case, Jotunheim is doomed.

 

But no, he thinks a second later — it does not matter what Thor’s past preferences are. His hope should be that, by the time it is Loki’s one night with the king, Thor’s past preferences would be exactly that — in the past. Loki will not change who he is for Thor, but merely improve upon himself, becoming both beautiful and desirable to the king.

 

With this declaration in mind, Loki decides that the next time Thor sees him, he will look his absolute best. Nicer clothes that do not constitute as sleepwear, hair that is actually styled for a change — whatever he can think of.

 

Whatever it takes.

 

He will tell Balder and Skadi about his new plan tomorrow. They should be eager to help, at least. And then he will blackmail Amora, making it an all-around productive day.

 

With a firm nod at his reflection, Loki smiles and pulls his smallclothes back on before climbing into bed.

 

He almost wants to stay awake the rest of the night just to spite Thor, even though the king would probably never know; but his traitorous eyelids find themselves heavy the moment his head hits the pillow, and close within seconds.

 

It turns out to be the best sleep he has had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, Loki. Baby has no idea what flirting is... yet, anyway ;]
> 
> Real talk: there was originally not going to be a Loki/Thor scene in this chapter, but after making you guys wait so long, I would have felt like such an asshole for not including one, lol. But as long as this chapter is, I think it works, so I’m really happy that I combined it all together. Hopefully you guys are, too!
> 
> Things have officially settled down for me irl, so I promise that you all can expect the next chapter soon! As always, thank you so much for your patience and support <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which minor characters return, Loki is a fashionista, and Thor makes good on his promise.

When Amora slowly comes to, eyelids fluttering open as gentle rays of sunlight pour through her halfway opened curtains, a small smile pulls at her lips.

 

For it is a brand new day. A new day to conquer.

 

One day closer to King Thor, another day closer to becoming queen.

 

She lets out a soft, contented sigh before slowly sitting up in bed, stretching out her arms attractively. And then she turns her head to the left and screams.

 

“Hello, Amora.”

 

“Dammit, Loki,” Amora hisses, hand flying to her chest as she takes deep, calming breaths.

 

Then she looks more carefully at her so-called friend, who is sitting regally in the chair by her bed, one leg crossed elegantly over the other and a smile on his face that is downright sinister.

 

“What the Hel are you doing in here?” she demands.

 

“Giving you a wakeup call.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

Loki curls one of the hands folded in his lap into a fist before holding it out to the side, causing Amora’s eyes to narrow. Then, he waits a few dramatic seconds before unclenching his fingers and allowing the item that was tucked inside his hold to come tumbling out, saved from hitting the floor only thanks to the end of the thin, silver chain that remains securely wrapped around his fingers.

 

“Nice necklace.”

 

Amora freezes, eyes fixated on the impossibly beautiful diamond hanging from the delicate chain before lunging for it.

 

Loki, however, is slippery, and easily evades her grasp as he vaults out of the chair and neatly steps to the side.

 

Amora nearly rips her sheets in two as she flings them back, jumping out of bed to face Loki down. “You went through my _things_?!”

 

“ _Your_ things? Why, if I recall, this doesn’t actually belong to you,” Loki points out innocently. He then leans forward and cheekily adds, “In fact, I think it technically belongs to the king, does it not? After all, you _did_ steal it from his majesty’s treasury.”

 

It takes Amora a moment, but then she laughs, a touch hysterical. “Oh, you mean to _blackmail_ me.” She gives Loki a patronizingly sweet smile. “How cute of you to try.”

 

Loki shrugs and shakes his hand a little, causing the diamond to swing back and forth from its chain like a pendulum. “Seems to me like I didn’t have to try very hard.”

 

“You’re forgetting one thing, though,” Amora purrs.

 

Loki smirks. “Oh? And what is that?”

 

“I can still inform Balder and Skadi of your little nightly adventures.” Amora’s smile turns cruel. “Tell me, have you gone out anymore since the night you came back in tears, crying like a little child?”

 

Loki looks off to the side with his lips pursed, as if considering. “You can,” he eventually concedes, ignoring her last question. He then looks back to Amora. “But out of the two of us, who will they believe?”

 

“Not _you_ , that’s for sure. You, with your reputation for lying –“

 

“Ah, and now you have a reputation for stealing. Imagine that.”

 

“So do you,” Amora throws back, and then, “I’ll tell them you planted it.”

 

“Great plan, except everyone heard you loudly proclaiming this necklace to be yours, and fighting Glut over it.” Loki shakes his head at her, condescending. “Meanwhile, I was with Balder and Skadi the entire time. There’s no way even _I_ could have taken it without at least one of them seeing me.”

 

Amora frowns. “Yes… What were you…” she trails off, brows furrowed as she remembers the way Balder and Skadi were flocked around Loki every time she happened to glance their way. They seemed even more attentive to Loki than usual, but Amora had only rolled her eyes at their blatant favoritism — again — before returning to her own search for the perfect outfit to seduce the king. 

 

And then realization hits.

 

Loki’s newfound concentration during lectures, the increased rigor in his beauty regiments, the numerous private meetings he has begun to have with Balder and Skadi — it all makes sense now.

 

Horrible, horrible sense.

 

“ _Why you_ –“

 

“Don’t try to blackmail me, Amora,” Loki says lowly, all pretenses gone. “In fact, don’t try anything.” Necklace now held safely behind his back, he leans in closer and murmurs, “I may not have my magic anymore, but I will _end you_ if you even _try_ to get in my way.”

 

A slight shiver runs down Amora’s spine as she looks into the darkness of Loki’s eyes, but it is not long until she regains her senses and transitions back into pure, unadulterated anger. “You overestimate yourself,” she spits.

 

“Perhaps,” Loki acquiesces lightly. He then pulls the necklace from behind his back and holds it out to her, letting it dangle from his grasp once more. Amora looks between the diamond and Loki a few times before quickly snatching it up, and is somewhat surprised that he actually lets her take it from him so easily. “We’ll see in time, won’t we?”

 

With a proud smirk, he turns on his heel and saunters away, hips swinging enticingly with each step he takes.

 

Amora has never wanted to murder someone so badly.

 

“Oh, and just so we’re clear,” Loki intones right after he passes through the doorway, turning back to look at her with an obnoxious grin. “No hard feelings, yes?”

 

Amora growls at him before marching over to the door and slamming it in his smug face.

 

She is thoroughly disappointed when none of his damned fingers are caught in the crossfire.

  

* * *

 

“This can go,” Loki decides, throwing a shirt from his wardrobe. “So can this. Norns, and so can this! What _was_ I doing wearing that shade of yellow, anyway?”

 

Grabbing a long, royal blue tunic, Loki holds it up in front of himself and looks into his full-length mirror, considering, before turning to his visitor. “What do you think?”

 

The raven perched on his windowsill says nothing.

 

“Too feminine?” Loki presses. “It’s practically a dress, really.” He then pauses. “Do you think the king would like that? If I wore it without leggings, I mean.”

 

The raven lets out a soft croak, shifting its feathers, and Loki hums. “I suppose you’re right,” he eventually says, readjusting the tunic on its hanger before hanging it back in the wardrobe. “Maybe in the future.”

 

“If only I knew what he liked in a… in a man,” he rants, before shaking his head. “But no matter. Like I told myself last night, I’ll wear what _I_ want to wear and _make_ King Thor like it.”

 

The raven lets out a caw of approval, and Loki smiles.

 

“But he does like me in green,” he then murmurs, pulling out everything green in his wardrobe and laying it neatly on the bed. “He told me so himself. His exact words were, ‘Green suits you, by the way.’”

 

Then he remembers back when Thor told him this, the way he crowded Loki against his office doors and how his hands — big and strong like every other part of him — brushed oh-so-lightly against his green robe, even going so far as to run the soft hairs between the pads of his fingers.

 

Loki lets out a soft sigh. “I do like green…”

 

A light knock sounds on the door, and then Balder calls out, “Loki?”

 

Loki bounds over the door and throws it open. “I’m glad you’re here,” he tells Balder and Skadi, ushering them inside before closing the door again.

 

“Why aren’t you doing your morning beauty routine with the others?” Balder questions, before taking in the room’s disarray with wide eyes

 

“I woke up early and did it.”

 

The fact that he woke up early to blackmail Amora, having decided to get it over with early rather than continue to delay the inevitable, goes unsaid. Also, he might have merely rinsed his hair, skipped his morning skincare regiment, and scarfed down some buttered bread for breakfast — but what Balder and Skadi do not know will not hurt them.

 

“Were you talking to yourself again?” Skadi asks, currently ignoring the surrounding mess in favor of eyeing Loki suspiciously.

 

“No, I was talking to…” Loki looks back to his windowsill, only to find it bird-free. “All right, I _swear_ that he was there a minute ago.”

 

“Who?” Balder and Skadi demand at the same time.

 

Loki shrugs. “Some raven. He visits me every now and then, and we talk.” One side of Loki’s mouth turns up. “Well, I talk and he listens; but he’s a great listener! Anyway…”

 

He turns back to the clothes on his bed for a moment, completely missing the nervous looks Balder and Skadi exchange with one another.

 

“So!” Loki claps his hands together once. “I need new clothes.”

 

“ _Excuse me_?” Skadi asks incredulously.

 

“I need new clothes!”

 

“Why do you need new clothes?” Balder asks, trying and failing to hold back an amused smile.

 

Loki gestures at the messy pile of garments on the floor with a scowl. “I can’t be seen in these rags in front of the king!”

 

Balder cannot hold back his laughter anymore.

 

“I’m serious!” Loki snaps, trying to hold back a smile of his own.

 

“If we give you more clothes, the others will demand the same,” Skadi points out.

 

“Can’t you provide them to me slowly, and in secret? I doubt the other girls would notice a couple of new pieces here and there.”

 

Skadi places her hands on her hips. “But is that fair to the other girls?”

 

Loki mimics her stance. “Do the other girls run into the king on a semi-regular basis these days?”

 

Skadi’s eyes narrow, and Loki gulps. “Is there a recent run-in that you haven’t told us about?”

 

“Maybe…”

 

“Loki!”

 

“Look, it was nothing,” Loki insists with a roll of his eyes. “I was in the garden last night, and King Thor spotted me and came over to talk to me. He stared at me a lot and made fun of me a lot and then Hogun of the Warriors Three came looking for him; and then he left.”

 

Balder looks at him with fond exasperation, and Skadi huffs. “Unbelievable,” she mutters.

 

“Couldn’t this be a good thing?” Loki tries awkwardly. “I mean, he didn’t _have_ to come talk to me… I didn’t even see him until he approached me.”

 

“You weren’t supposed to be outside so late,” Skadi grinds out, “and the king knows that!”

 

Loki shuffles his feet guiltily. “So?”

 

“ _So_ , maybe what the king desires is a queen who is _well-behaved_.”

 

“You mean boring,” Loki retorts, though he shifts uncomfortably again.

 

Skadi could be right, he thinks. King Thor certainly comments on his misbehavior enough. Their first meeting, after all, was because Loki disobeyed Balder and Skadi and snuck out of the harem at night.

 

But, a part of Loki’s mind tells him, Thor also seems to like that side of him, judging by the way he grins and provokes Loki instead of forcing him to apologize and silencing him.

 

But he does not want to push his luck, either.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Loki groans. “I’ll” — he grimaces — “ _behave_. Now, will you get me better clothes?”

 

“Like what?” Balder asks.

 

“More green, for starters,” Loki says, nodding towards his bed. “He likes me in that color, and I only have my dressing robe and that sleep shirt.”

 

“He… _likes_ you in that color,” Balder says slowly, squinting at Loki.

 

“…Did I forget to tell you about that?”

 

Balder sighs and looks at Skadi. “How much time do we have?”

 

“The other girls just got started on their hair,” Skadi tells him.

 

Then they look at Loki and nod at his bed. “ _Sit_ ,” they both order at the same time, so sternly that Loki quickly complies.

 

As Skadi drags the vanity chair over by the bed for herself, Balder carefully moves aside Loki’s robe before sitting beside him on the bed.

 

“Now,” Skadi starts. “Tell us _everything_.”

 

* * *

When Thor arrives at the training courtyard in the late morning hours — because after every feast, early morning training for most warriors is pushed closer to noon because of the alcohol intake and the lack of sleep the previous evening — it is to find Sif and Freyja already going at it with their swords inside the ring, Freyja quickly and expertly parrying against Sif’s skilled strikes and strong blows.

 

“Who are we betting on this time?” Thor asks, coming to stand by Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg.

 

“Sif,” Volstagg answers, just as Fandral and Hogun say the opposite. Neither of the three takes their eyes off the fight.

 

“I suppose I’ll also go with Sif,” Thor decides. “Make it even.”

 

“Say, where _did_ you go last night, Thor?” Fandral asks.

 

“Huh?”

 

“When you came back with Hogun, you were suddenly all bright and cheerful.” Grinning, Fandral briefly looks at him before his gaze snaps back to Sif and Freyja. “Did you have a quick romp behind a pillar somewhere?”

 

“I stepped outside for a bit of fresh air,” Thor insists. “Like I already told you.”

 

“A quick romp behind a bush, then?”

 

“Fandral,” Thor growls warningly, refusing to picture what a romp behind a bush with a certain boy would be like.

 

“He’s right, Thor,” Volstagg chimes in. “All night you looked like your childhood pet died, but then you return with this… _glow_.”

 

“I never had a chi–“ Thor cuts himself off with a scowl. “Hogun can confirm that no _romps_ were involved. Can’t you, Hogun?”

 

Instead of a confirmation, Hogun’s lips merely turn up at the corners a little.

 

Thor clenches his fists to keep from throttling him.

 

“Hogun won’t tell us anything,” Fandral complains.

 

“Oh, just tell us, Thor,” Volstagg prods. “It’s not fair that Hogun gets to know and we don’t!”

 

“It’s not?” Thor retorts with a smirk. “Besides, how do you two drunkards remember anythingfrom last night?”

 

“Hey, just become _some_ of us have turned over a new leaf when it comes to levels of intoxication — or in Freyja’s case, drinking at all — that doesn’t mean that the rest of us cannot have our fun,” Fandral protests.

 

Volstagg gives a short, hard nod in agreement. “Right.”

 

“And how did the two of you fare this morning after such a night of _fun_?” Thor teases, before chuckling at the glares the other two men send him.

 

Their conversation comes to a halt when Freyja is suddenly knocked to the ground, her sword having just flown out of her hand. Sif stands over her with her blade pointed at Freyja’s throat, and both of them pant heavily as they stare at one another.

 

But then Freyja grins, and she and Sif burst into laughter seconds later.

 

“Damn,” Fandral curses, and he and Hogun reluctantly give Thor and Volstagg their dues.

 

“Good fight,” Sif says once she has helped Freyja up. “You are a worthy opponent, as always.”

 

“As are you,” Freyja replies good-naturedly.

 

“Well boys, here’s my chance,” Fandral whispers conspiratorially before striding over to the ring and grinning up at Freyja. “That was a nice warm-up, my lady! Now, how would you like to face a _real_ opponent?”

 

Sif glowers at him, but Freyja brightens. “I’d love to!” Her eyes begin darting around the courtyard. “Do you see any?”

 

“Fandral, don’t embarrass yourself!” Volstagg calls out. “Not again!”

 

Thor is laughing along with the others when he spots Njord walking along the surrounding loggia, most likely on his way to his office within the palace. “I’ll be right back,” Thor murmurs, before impulsively running to catch up with his advisor.

 

“Njord!”

 

The easy grace with which Njord turns, along the warm smile playing at his lips, has Thor feeling more than a little ridiculous; but the anxiety he felt last night as he watched Njord leave the feast with Vinar remains at the forefront of his mind as he approaches the handsome, middle-aged advisor.

 

“And how is my king this fine morning?” Njord asks with a polite bow.

 

“Very well,” Thor answers, “and yourself?”

 

Njord chuckles. “A slight headache, but nothing more. The feast last night drained me a little, I must admit.”

 

“Really?” Thor asks as casually as he can. “I saw you leaving quite early.”

 

Njord’s pause is oh-so slight, and would be unnoticeable were one not looking for it. “I stepped out to get a little fresh air at one point, but I came back inside after a few minutes. You didn’t see me?” Thor opens his mouth to respond, but Njord beats him to it, “Then again, I guess _you_ wouldn’t have noticed by that time of night, not after a few pitchers of mead. Right, my king?” He then laughs and winks at Thor conspiratorially.

 

Thor returns his laugh as best he can. “You know me well.”

 

A loud caw is heard, then, and both men over to see Huginn flying low over the courtyard.

 

“Well, then,” Njord says brightly, if not a little hastily. “If your majesty will excuse me, I need to be off now. But I’ll see you at the council meeting tomorrow.”

 

“Looking forward to it,” Thor lies, and Njord gives another bow before striding away, leaving Thor to stare after him.

 

“He didn’t even try,” Thor mutters.

 

Apparently his advisors think him even more of a drunkard and a fool than he originally thought.

 

“Thor?”

 

He wonders if he is always so blatantly lied to.

 

“Thor? Are you all right?”

 

He turns around and smiles weakly at Sif. “I’m fine.”

 

Sif sees right through him, as usual, but after a moment she presses her lips together and nods. “You’ll come to me when you’re ready,” she says, deciding for the both of them.

 

Thor’s smile turns genuine. “I will.”

 

“Good.” Sif adjusts her ponytail and looks over to where Freyja has Fandral on the ground in a headlock, the grin on Freyja’s face turning more and more ruthless by the second as Hogun and Volstagg cheer her on. “Shall we?” she asks.

 

Thor smirks and motions for her to go ahead. “Ladies first.”

 

“You’re going to pay for that,” Sif promises with a laugh.

 

Thor shoves his troubles to the back of his mind for now and laughs with her. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

 

* * *

When they finally make it downstairs, a well-scolded Loki following Balder and Skadi at a safe distance, it is to find the rest of the girls already sitting in the main hall, awaiting their morning announcements.

 

Without looking anyone in the eye, Loki quickly and quietly takes his seat on one of the long couches by Sigyn before turning to give her a smile.

 

Sigyn, however, looks straight ahead at Balder and Skadi, her face void of emotion except for the tightness around her eyes.

 

“Sigyn,” Loki whispers, but then Balder clears his throat.

 

“First thing’s first: Skadi and I are pleased to announce that you all have passed your beauty evaluations. Each and every one of you have taken our advice seriously and dedicated yourselves to improving your appearance, and your hard work absolutely shows. As always, we are very proud.”

 

With each word that passes through Balder’s lips, Loki begins to feel distinctively uncomfortable, becoming more and more aware of a strange tension in the room.

 

“And now for today’s business,” Balder continues, smile turning apologetic. “We have scheduled medical evaluations today for all of you.”

 

Many of the girls groan at this, and Loki cannot help the flash of fear he experiences as he remembers how Eir, kind and gentle as she was to him, touched and prodded at Loki’s most intimate places, and how humiliating the entire process was.

 

He locks eyes with Balder, and his fear must be obvious to the other man because Balder gives him a slight nod, as if to say that everything will be all right. “It will not be nearly as invasive as last time,” he then assures them, still looking at Loki, “but merely a simple physical. It won’t take long at all.”

 

“Eir was kind enough to work with us and schedule all of you in one day,” Skadi explains, papers in hand, “so I’ll go ahead and read out the order so you will all know approximately when to expect your turn.”

 

As she reads out the names, Loki tries for Sigyn’s attention again, even going so far as to wave his hand in front of her face. She blinks, and then she purposefully inches away from him, all the while continuing to ignore him.

 

Loki recoils a little, unable to hide his hurt, and finally looks around at the others, only to find many of them already looking at him in return. Some look thoughtful, others suspicious, but more than a few — particularly Glut, Eisa, and Einmyria — sneer at him downright hatefully.

 

Loki shrinks back from the attention and resumes staring straight ahead at Balder and Skadi just in time to hear his name called after Glut’s.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Glut shoot him an especially nasty glare, as if she is affronted for Loki’s name to be allowed in the same breath as her own. Balder must see it, too, because he keeps his soft eyes trained on Loki, like he is silently instructing Loki to look at him and only him; so Loki does.

 

When the meeting is over and everyone is dismissed to get ready for their appointments, Sigyn is the first to jump to her feet and hurry away, as if she can no longer stand to be near Loki. Instead of chasing after her, Loki just stands and looks to where Amora sits at the back of the room, the expression on her face all-too pleased. Rising from her chair, she sends Loki a slow, vengeful smile before leaving, and an unbothered Lorelei merely shrugs at him and trails after her sister.

 

Loki stands there silently, staring after them long after the other youth have gone until a hand lands gently on his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Since we aren’t having classes today, would you like to join me in the library for the rest of the morning?” Balder asks him kindly.

 

In this moment, Loki feels a rush of affection for Balder, and he smiles at him gratefully. “I’d love to.”

  

* * *

 

Loki ends up spending not only the rest of the morning, but a few hours into the afternoon with Balder as well. Balder even has lunch brought to them in the library, which they partake of together while reading and talking about all kinds of topics, only occasionally touching on the competition and King Thor.

 

Balder patiently waits for Loki to explain what happened that morning with the other girls, which he finally does after lunch, sitting close beside Balder on the window seat.

 

“Amora knows that I’m trying to become queen now,” he says with little emotion.

 

“Ah. I take it she told everyone else?”

 

Loki lets out an unamused laugh and confesses, “That’s partly why I got up and did my morning beauty routine early. I knew she’d tell them, and I didn’t want to be there when it happened.”

 

He does not go into Sigyn’s unexpected betrayal, though, and how even more unexpectedly hurt he feels by it.

 

“It’s a compliment, you know,” Balder points out. “They are afraid of you, of the competition you bring.” With a wink and a grin, he then reaches out and pats Loki’s thigh. “If only they knew what a head start you’ve gotten.”

 

Loki is quick to recall when Skadi used nearly those exact words, speaking to him the morning after the weapons vault was broken into.

 

How things have changed since then, he thinks wryly.

 

Mid-afternoon, Balder accompanies Loki upstairs and helps him sort through his recently approved clothes to find something to wear to his examination.

 

“You do know you’ll just have to change into a gown again, right?” Balder had told him earlier in the library, when Loki brought up the subject of what to wear.

 

“Yes, but what if I run into the king on the way?” Loki was quick to point out, and Balder just chuckled.

 

“Wear this,” he tells Loki now, handing him the same royal blue tunic Loki had been looking at that morning, and Loki immediately begins stripping off his clothes.

 

Just as he is in the process of pulling the tunic over his head, Skadi slips inside the room and announces, “Hoenir is here for Loki.”

 

“What?!” Loki cries, muffled by the fabric against his mouth. A set of hands helps yank the rest of the tunic down into place, and Loki looks up at Skadi with wide eyes. “Hoenir?”

 

“Yes, Hoenir. He’s here to escort you to your examination,” Skadi says, with the same tone she would use to comment on the sky being blue.

 

Loki sends Balder a look — not exactly accusing, but close — and Balder holds up his hands. “I spoke with him last night and told him about the examinations, but that was all. Had I known he planned on escorting you himself, I would have told you, Loki.”

 

After a moment, Loki nods at him, accepting of his answer.

 

Then, “But _why_?!”

 

“Hoenir likes you, Loki,” Balder tells him, and Skadi mutters something inaudible under her breath that Loki should probably be glaring at her for. “I’d imagine that he simply wants to talk to you.”

 

“Oh,” Loki says after a moment.

 

He was going to ask Balder and Skadi for their thoughts about him forgoing leggings with such a long tunic, but the thought of someone like Hoenir seeing him like that has Loki in a sudden, frantic search for his best black leggings.

 

“What are you looking for?” Skadi asks as Loki crouches down to peek under his bed.

 

“Aha!” Loki snatches them up and pulls back from underneath his bed. “These.” Ignoring the bemused expressions on Balder and Skadi’s faces, he rises to his feet and begins pulling the tight, stretchy material up his legs as quickly as he can, nearly tripping at one point in his haste.

 

“Slow down,” Balder soothes, reaching out to grab Loki’s shoulders and steady him. “Hoenir would rather be kept waiting than have you twist an ankle.”

 

Once the leggings are in place, Balder readjusts the tunic before passing Loki his golden-colored sandals, which Loki slips onto his feet while Skadi takes a brush to his hair.

 

Within a few minutes, Loki is deemed ready by both Balder and Skadi; and while Loki is still not completely satisfied with his appearance — namely, his wavy, seemingly untamable hair — his attire alone is a world of improvement, he concludes as he takes one last look in the mirror. The color of the tunic brings out the hint of blue in his green eyes, and the asymmetrical material drapes beautifully across his body in a way that brings attention to just how tall and slender he is, hugging his hips and hanging mid-thigh on his right side and just below his knees on the left.

 

Truthfully, the entire outfit is rather unusual for a male to be wearing, but the neckline is modest, and the flowing sleeves cover up his wrists completely; and so Loki is mostly confident that any attention he draws will not be entirely negative.

 

“Stop preening and go,” Skadi commands, and Loki glares at her half-heartedly but allows them to lead him downstairs to the main harem entrance where, true to Skadi’s word, Hoenir is waiting for him.

 

“Good afternoon, Balder.”

 

Balder smiles. “Hoenir.”

 

Hoenir then sends a respectful nod to Skadi, having already greeted her earlier, before turning to Loki and smiling warmly at him. “Hello, Loki.”

 

“Hoenir,” Loki says, and yelps when Skadi jabs her fingers into his lower back. “I mean, my lord. Lord Hoenir.”

 

“Oh no,” Hoenir says, shaking his head in amusement. “I like this one,” he tells Skadi, “He need not use titles in my presence.”

 

Loki smirks back at Skadi and refuses to cower before the poisonous glare she sends his way.

 

“Now,” Hoenir continues, holding his arm out to Loki. “Shall we?”

 

Loki looks at Hoenir for a moment, thinking back to how kind he has been, and how he did not punish Angrboda for lashing out at him on Loki’s behalf; and then he thinks of the blindfold, the way Hoenir could so easily switch from being gentle with Loki to being sharp and condescending with King Thor, and how disconcerting it all was.

 

But in the end, he places his hand in the crook of Hoenir’s arm, and is rewarded with Hoenir beaming at him. While he may still be suspicious of Hoenir’s intentions, Loki feels confident that he chose wisely just now.

 

“So, how are you, Loki?” Hoenir asks once they have stepped off the harem grounds and onto the pathway that leads to the closest palace entrance.

 

“I am well,” Loki answers carefully. “And yourself?”

 

“Oh, you know,” Hoenir drawls. “Running the kingdom is hard work, but seeing as how I’ve been doing it for millennia…”

 

Loki snorts. “If you are running the kingdom, then what does King Thor do with his time?”

 

“Look pretty and swing his hammer about.”

 

Loki presses his lips together, trying not to laugh at the clear double entendre, until he catches Hoenir’s amused, expectant eyes. Then they both laugh, breaking some of the tension between them.

 

“Why do you hate King Thor, anyway?” Loki asks, a smile still on his face.

 

“Hate? Hate is a very strong word, child.”

 

“But the night of the break-in, you told me –“

 

“That I wasn’t very fond of him. There’s a difference.”

 

“Semantics,” Loki says with a roll of his eyes, and Hoenir chuckles.

 

“You’re the one who said you hated him.”

 

“I did?” Loki asks, looking at Hoenir with nervous eyes. Hoenir continues to look amused, however, and so Loki relaxes. “Well… I was under a lot of stress that night. I probably said a lot of things that I didn’t mean.”

 

Hoenir smirks. “Ah, I see. So you don’t hate King Thor, then.”

 

Loki is quick to reply, “I’m just not very fond of him.”

 

Hoenir laughs long and hard at this, attracting the attention of more than a few people as they enter the palace.

 

They lightly chat as they walk, and when they reach the healing wing, Loki lights up upon seeing Angrboda in one corner of the waiting room, talking to a patient of his own. Letting go of Hoenir’s arm, and without any care for manners and protocol, a grinning Loki rushes over and throws his arms around his uncle’s neck.

 

Angrboda lets out a soft grunt of surprise but is quick to catch him. “My apologies for my rambunctious nephew here,” Loki hears him tell the patient in exasperation, though his arms wrap firmly around Loki’s body. Loki smiles mischievously into his uncle’s chest and allows him to rock Loki back and forth a little as he finishes with his patient.

 

As soon as the patient is dismissed, Angrboda holds Loki away from him just enough so that he can look at his face. “Loki,” he scolds, but he cannot help but smile.

 

“Hi.”

 

Then Angrboda takes in Loki’s outfit. “You look… nice,” he says slowly.

 

Loki frowns. “Don’t sound too surprised, now.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Angrboda says with a laugh. “It’s a different look for you. I like it.”

 

Then, it is as if it dawns on Angrboda why Loki would go to such lengths for a mere medical examination, and his face predictably darkens. “Uncle,” Loki says soothingly, giving him a sweet smile until Angrboda softens.

 

“Hello, Angrboda.”

 

Loki inwardly curses as his uncle stiffens again, his hold tightening on Loki as they look over at Hoenir, who has clearly watched their entire exchange just now if the knowing smile on his face is anything to go by.

 

“My lord,” Angrboda manages to say calmly.

 

Thankfully, Eir chooses that moment to step into the waiting room, and Angrboda waits until Hoenir walks over to converse with her before looking back at Loki angrily. “What is he doing here?” he whispers harshly.

 

Loki widens his eyes innocently. “We arrived at the same time and –“

 

“ _Loki_.”

 

“He asked Skadi if he could escort me here.”

 

Angrboda’s mouth tightens. “I’m staying with you this time, all right?”

 

“What?”

 

“In the examination room.”

 

“Only if you promise to be good,” Loki warns him, though he leans into his uncle gratefully.

 

“Hello again, Loki,” Eir says warmly, sweeping over to them.

 

Loki forces himself to pull away from Angrboda and returns Eir’s smile. “Hello.”

 

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll get started on your physical. It will be quicker and easier than last time, I promise.” She looks back and forth between him and Angrboda. “I have permitted your uncle to assist me, so he will be with you this time as well.”

 

“Thank you,” Loki tells her honestly, and they all — Hoenir included — follow her inside the examination room.

 

It is the same room as before, with the same long examination table in the center of it; but Loki already feels a little less scared with Angrboda close by his side.

 

“Slip this on, please,” Eir instructs, handing Loki his gown.

 

This time, she and Hoenir do respectfully turn away, and Loki thinks it must be because they trust him, now. Angrboda does not turn, however, and while once upon a time Loki would have yelled at him until he did so, not even wanting his uncle to see him naked, it does not even cross his mind now as he lets Angrboda help him undress.

 

As soon as Angrboda has tied the back of his gown for him, Loki clears his throat, signaling for Eir and Hoenir to face him again.

 

Eir smiles at him. “Now, dear, if you’ll step over here, we’ll start by measuring your height and weight again,” she says, and Loki complies.

 

True to Balder and Eir’s words, the examination goes by relatively fast and is much less invasive than the last one was, with Eir merely taking a look at his private areas and using her seidr to inspect him rather than her hands. She does not ask any more embarrassing questions, either, though that could be because of the hard stare Angrboda gives her and Hoenir the entire time when he’s not smiling reassuringly at Loki, stroking his hair or running his hand up and down Loki’s spine to comfort him. His ‘assisting’ Eir turns out to basically mean watching over Loki like a bear would her cub, but Loki is perfectly all right with that.

 

His uncle is love and safety and warmth, and Loki feels that he will never deserve him.

 

When they are finished, Eir and Hoenir leave to give him and Angrboda a private moment alone as Loki redresses. They are quiet as Angrboda unties Loki’s gown and slides it off of his body, though Loki is silently gathering the words he wants to say.

 

“Uncle, I know you don’t support me,” he begins after having pulled on his smallclothes, but then Angrboda holds up a hand to interrupt.

 

“I support you, Loki. I know what I said last time, but I will always support _you_.” His eyes tear up. “I just can’t approve of what you’re doing.”

 

“Is there a difference?” Loki asks.

 

Angrboda smiles sadly at him. “There’s a huge difference, my sweet nephew.”

 

“Well… thank you for being with me,” Loki tells him honestly. “Here, during the examination.”

 

In response, Angrboda leans over and places a kiss on his forehead, and then Loki resumes dressing.

 

“How do I look?” he asks once he is fully dressed, smiling and spinning in a circle for his uncle.

 

“Very nice,” Angrboda says flatly, though the adoring expression on his face as he smooths down Loki’s hair more than answers his question.

 

As soon as they walk back into the waiting room, Eir comes over to them with an apologetic look on her face. “Angrboda, I’m sorry, but your next patient is waiting for you.”

 

“One last moment,” Angrboda says.

 

Eir smiles. “Of course. Hoenir will escort Loki back to the harem when you are done.”

 

The second Eir steps away, Angrboda wastes no time in drawing Loki into his arms again. “I love you,” Loki tells him, wrapping his arms around Angrboda’s shoulders tightly.

 

He hears and feels Angrboda take in a ragged breath. “I love you, too. So, so much, my sweet nephew.”

 

Another kiss is placed upon Loki, this time on his hair, and Loki nuzzles against his uncle’s shoulder before forcing himself to pull away. “I will see you _soon_ ,” Loki tells him pointedly, a soft smile on his lips.

 

“Very soon,” Angrboda promises, and cannot resist giving his nephew one last kiss on the forehead before leaving to tend to his next patient.

 

It is then that Eir and Hoenir come back over to him, but instead of getting ready to leave, Hoenir just says, “Wait here for me one minute, Loki,” and steps into another room with Eir, closing the door behind them.

 

Loki huffs a little and settles into an empty chair to wait.

 

After a few minutes of feeling other patients’ eyes on him, however, Loki decides that slipping out into the corridor would not hurt anything. And so he leans against the wall outside, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes with every minute that Hoenir does not come out.

 

But then three loud figures come into view, causing Loki to gape in horror before quickly turning away, trying to hide his face as much as he can. He is just about to slip back inside the waiting room when their voices trail off, their footsteps coming to a slow halt.

 

“Is that…?” one of them starts, and Loki cringes.

 

“Well, well, well,” another drawls. “If it isn’t our favorite little ergi.”

 

Putting on a brave face, Loki moves away from the door and turns to look at them with a smirk. “Still obsessed with me, I see.”

 

“I ought to kill you for what you did to us in the southeast square, _witch,_ ” the same boy growls, but the other two are quick to hold him back.

 

Loki looks him up and down. “You _ought_ to burn that shirt you’re wearing. What in Hel’s name were you thinking donning that monstrosity? Seriously, that shade of purple with your skin tone?”

 

“You freak!” he yells, lunging for Loki. The other two boys tighten their grip on him, however, keeping him from attacking. “Let me go,” he tells them furiously, but they shake their heads.

 

“He’s the king’s new whore, remember?” the second boy says.

 

“Just look at him,” the third chimes in. “His hair, his argr clothes… a true _queen_ in the making. The fact that he actually has a cunt just makes it even funnier.”

 

The second boy sniggers, but the first boy just scoffs and says, “As ugly as he is, he’ll be lucky to become one of the king’s concubines, let alone queen.”

 

“King Thor would have to be drunk to even touch him,” the second agrees with a sneer.

 

“Maybe if the king takes him from behind,” the third proposes, and all three laugh.

 

Refusing to let them see just how deep their jabs are cutting into him, Loki merely raises his eyebrows and says, “My, you three sound jealous.”

 

Their laughter abruptly stops. “Of what?” the first boy demands.

 

“Of me,” Loki answers with a smirk. “In our handsome king’s bed.”

 

The first boy tries to get at Loki again, but is once more held back by his friends. “It’s not worth it,” the second boy reminds him. “A guard could walk by at any moment. Besides, he might…”

 

“Might what?” Loki asks dangerously, before suddenly raising his hands.

 

And sure enough, the three boys comically flinch back, either not noticing the bracelets on Loki’s wrists or, more likely, just not knowing what it is they actually do.

 

“L-let’s get out of here,” the third boy decides, and the other two nod nervously.

 

They then continue on their way, each of them looking over their shoulder to glare at Loki every few seconds — though the way their eyes look back and forth between Loki’s face and his hands betray them.

 

As soon as they are out of sight, Loki lets out a deep breath. And then another, and another, his eyes narrowing towards the direction they left in as his fists clench almost painfully by his sides. He then glowers down at his bracelets and imagines the multitude of things he could do to them — he would do to them — if his magic were not sealed.

 

Then again, Loki thinks after a moment, there are many things he could do to them without his magic, too.

 

In his anger, he does not stop to think rationally or to calm himself down, but instead quietly makes his way in the direction the boys went, Hoenir completely forgotten.

  

* * *

 

“It’s _my_ land! It’s been in my family for millennia –“

 

“But which family has put all of their love and care into that land for the past six centuries? Certainly not yours!”

 

“Gentlemen, please!” Tyr tries, but the elderly men do not seem to hear him as they stare one another down.

 

“Those five acres belong to _me_. I have the documents for it –“

 

“But those five acres have been plowed and watered and tended to by _me_ , so I don’t see how –“

 

“ _Enough_!” Thor bellows from Hlidskjalf, startling the two men. They look up at their king meekly.

 

“King Thor! King Thor!” a much younger voice shouts, and Thor looks up in surprise to see Ullr running inside the throne room, having somehow bypassed the guards stationed near the door.

 

He is fast, Thor cannot help but note wryly, before rising from his throne. “Ullr? What is the meaning of this?” he demands.

 

Ullr bypasses the two men at the bottom of the steps without a thought, but then hesitates halfway up the stairs. With a sigh, Thor gestures for the messenger to come closer, and so Ullr runs the rest of the way up the stairs until he is right in front of the dais.

 

“It is Loki,” he confesses quietly.

 

Mjolnir is in Thor’s hand the second Loki’s name leaves Ullr’s lips.

 

“What’s wrong? Is he all right?”

 

“He… he was here for a medical examination, and then he suddenly left the healing wing before Hoenir could escort him back to the harem…”

 

Hoenir, Thor thinks with a growl, before barking, “Where is the boy now?”

 

Ullr trembles. “H-Heimdall said that he is on the third floor of the palace –“

 

Thor starts to rush past him when Tyr bravely steps in his path. “Thor!” he hisses. “You are in _court_!”

 

Thor pauses only briefly. “Take over for me.”

 

“But I –“

 

“You have done it before,” Thor reminds him. “And just _like_ before, I trust you to handle things until I get back. Is that clear?”

 

Tyr stares back at him, lips pressed into a thin line, before sighing and rolling his eyes. “Yes, my king.”

 

Thor then wastes no time in bounding past his head advisor and the bewildered old farmers, his red cape flowing behind him. Ullr faithfully follows after him, but Thor pays him and the people glancing curiously at him no mind as he storms his way out of the throne room and towards the main staircase, more furious than he has felt in an age.

 

His mind runs through several possibilities, from Loki foolishly wandering off for whatever reason to darker, more dangerous theories; and he becomes more enraged by the second.

 

If someone has hurt Loki, he will make them wish for death.

 

Once he has climbed the steps to the third floor, Thor pauses and waits for a panting Ullr to catch up before rounding on him abruptly, causing the young man to nearly fall on his backside. “Wait here,” Thor commands gruffly, and continues on alone after a nervous nod from Ullr.

 

His loud, angry stalking transitions into light footsteps, still quick yet nearly inaudible to untrained ears. There is little activity on this floor in the afternoons, and so Thor passes few people as he searches for Loki, his senses attuned to the boy completely as his eyes look for a flash of black hair and pale skin, his ears listening for that alluring voice — bright and childlike one moment, low and (dare Thor think it) seductive the next.

 

Once he starts to pass from one corridor into narrower hallway, he finally spots his prey. Thor darts into a nearby alcove, which is of wider width than its narrow entrance would suggest, and hides inside of it, head peeking out just enough to watch Loki skulk about the shadows.

 

As soon as it becomes apparent that Loki is not hurt, amusement quickly rises above Thor’s ire and only increases the more he watches him, tracking Loki’s lithe form as the youth hides behind a pillar while two servants walk by. As soon as they have rounded the corner, Loki’s eyes dart furiously to the right and then the left before he makes a run for the next pillar, smoothly ducking behind it so he can repeat the same process all over again.

 

Thor stifles a laugh and hooks Mjolnir back onto his belt, silently willing the boy to come closer.

 

Surprisingly, Loki does, swiftly making his way to the pillar closest to the alcove that Thor is hiding in. Thor holds his breath and waits as Loki, back now turned to Thor, takes a few more steps backwards as well, slowly but surely coming into Thor’s reach.

 

When he is but a few feet away, Thor pounces.

 

His left arm wraps around Loki’s waist and pulls him tight against his body, molding his back to Thor’s chest, just as his right hand clamps down firmly on Loki’s mouth to muffle any cries.

 

He expected Loki to struggle, to cry out in surprise and possibly even attempt to fight him off; but the way Loki suddenly goes deathly still in his hold has Thor pausing, too, feeling a strange unease at Loki’s reaction — or lack thereof. But then Loki starts thrashing violently in his arms and letting out choked, panicked sounds, and so Thor snaps out of it and urgently whispers before Loki can hurt himself, “Loki, it’s me! It’s Thor.”

 

It takes another second, and then Loki stills in his arms again, this time slumping back against Thor’s chest in a boneless manner, his breath hot on Thor’s palm as he pants in exertion.

 

They stand there for a moment like that, and Thor is struck by the way Loki’s body fits against his. He can feel everything from this position, from Loki’s hair in his face — soft and shiny and sweet-smelling, like something out of Fensalir, though Thor is not sure what — down to his legs. Even his feet are practically on top of Thor’s thanks to the way Thor has him positioned.

 

Then it is as if Loki reclaims himself and remembers just who is restraining him, and he tenses again — though not quite in fear this time, Thor is relieved to note. The skin around Loki’s mouth starts to feel hotter around his hand, and Thor looks down to see that his face is flushed red, most likely in embarrassment.

 

Good, Thor thinks, part of his anger returning to him now that he knows for sure that Loki is safe.

 

“You know,” Thor murmurs in his ear, tightening his hold on Loki’s waist even further, “I’m starting to think that maybe you _want_ to be bended over my knee.”

 

Loki lets out an indignant cry and begins struggling again, and so Thor backs them up further into the alcove until they are hidden from the corridor completely. He spins Loki around and pins him against one side of the wall, planting his arms firmly by Loki’s sides to cage him in.

 

With the small window to Thor’s right shining abundant light on Loki’s blushing face — which seems to be going through a myriad of emotions with each passing second, namely shock and nervousness and humiliation — Thor growls at him a little. “ _What_ are you _doing_?”

 

“How dare you!” Loki hisses in reply, suddenly looking just as mad at Thor as Thor is at him.

 

Thor is outraged.

 

“How dare _I_?!”

 

Loki’s voice is shaky as he says, “How dare you grab me like that and… and imply…”

 

“Imply what?” Thor prods mockingly, and Loki’s mouth immediately snaps shut.

 

They pause to take each other in, and as Loki’s eyes widen upon looking him up and down, Thor realizes that this is the first time Loki has actually seen him in his full, official armor. Thor is well aware how imposing he looks like this, with his red cape streaming behind him and making him seem even broader than he already is, the silver armor lining his arms gleaming in the light and accentuating his enormous muscles.

 

Thor almost smirks at the look of awe on Loki’s face but thinks better of it, knowing what he has to do.

 

“Loki,” he begins lowly, “I’m going to ask you some questions now, and I want you to _answer_ me. _What_ were you doing just now? Why did you leave the healing wing by yourself?”

 

Loki’s expression turns innocent in the blink of an eye. “I misunderstood! You see, I thought I was supposed to meet one of the guards _outside_ the healing wing, and then I got lost, your majesty, and –“

 

“Do not lie to me,” Thor interrupts, a little more harshly than he originally intended. “I know that Hoenir was with you, and that he was supposed to escort you back.”

 

Loki’s eyes dart to the window, and he fidgets underneath Thor’s stern gaze.

 

“Loki…”

 

“I was looking for someone.”

 

“Who?” Thor demands.

 

“Just three boys,” Loki says quietly, as if it is no big deal.

 

“ _Who_?”

 

“I don’t know their names!” Loki insists with gritted teeth, looking back at Thor. “Pardon me for never bothering to learn them.”

 

Thor takes a deep breath in order to calm himself. “Why were you looking for them, then?”

 

Loki hesitates, biting at his lip, and so Thor leans in even closer and says, “Loki, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I swear –“

 

“I wanted to get back at them!” Loki snaps.

 

“For what?” Thor’s anger spikes to an alarming level. “Did they hurt you?” He runs his eyes over Loki’s form again.

 

“No!” Loki cries, but Thor only meets his gaze again once he is satisfied that Loki is unharmed.

 

“What, then?”

 

“…I know them already,” Loki admits, looking out the window again. “Well, kind of. We don’t exactly get along, if you can imagine.”

 

“Why?” Thor presses, a little more gently.

 

“Seriously?” Loki scoffs, though he still refuses to look Thor in the eye. “ _Look_ at me.” He smiles sardonically. “Not many boys my age are so eager to play with me.”

 

Thor frowns as he looks Loki up and down a third time, taking in his peculiar and, frankly, feminine apparel, which only highlights the softer parts of his body — though his harder, more masculine characteristics still shine through as well.

 

It is baffling, just as much as everything else is with Loki; but it suits him, Thor decides. He has never seen Loki in such nice, well-fitted clothing before, and he suddenly finds it hard to look away.

 

“Plus,” Loki continues awkwardly, in such a tone that makes Thor’s eyes snap back up to his face warily, “I _may_ have played a few pranks on them…”

 

Thor furrows his brows. “Pranks?”

 

Loki nods. “More than a few.” He winces. “All right, maybe a lot. But they deserved it, so.” He looks up at Thor again, but Thor merely raises an eyebrow at him. “They do! They’re crude, and insulting, and –“

 

“They insult you?”

 

“Yes, and –“

 

“What do they call you?”

 

Loki pauses again, chewing on his bottom lip, but all it takes is a hard look from Thor before he is once more looking away and confessing, “They call me ergi.” Thor closes his eyes. “Ergi, an argr freak… They called my uncle ergi, too, the last time we fought.”

 

Thor opens his eyes. “Fought? You mean you physically fought them?”

 

Loki shrugs. “Sure.” He then grins proudly. “They may have given me a black eye that time, but I definitely won in the end.”

 

Thor calls upon what little patience he has left.

 

“And then when I was…” Loki looks at Thor nervously, and then away again, “When I was _found_ , they overheard that I am… not _entirely_ male, and they laughed at me… so I magicked away their clothing. In the southeast square.” Loki smirks at him. “Needless to say, if they didn’t hate me before, they _definitely_ hate me now.”

 

Thor is startled a little. “Southeast square? What were you doing in –“ He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind, that isn’t important right now. So what happened today?”

 

Loki’s smirk promptly fades into another expression of embarrassment, and he looks down at his feet. “I was waiting for Hoenir in the corridor when they walked by and spotted me. Besides the usual insults, they called me a whore… your whore… and said…”

 

“Loki, look at me,” Thor instructs, and then waits for Loki to obey him. “What did they say?”

 

Loki takes a deep breath. “That I would be lucky to be your new concubine.”

 

Thor lets out an actual growl before he can stop himself, and Loki would have flinched back and possibly hit his head on the wall were it not for Thor’s left hand deftly reaching up to grasp him around the nape of his neck, winding his fingers in dark, silky strands of hair and keeping his skull in place. “And what were you planning to do about it, exactly?”

 

Loki tries to shift in his hold, but is unable to get very far. “I don’t know…”

 

“Loki!”

 

“I don’t!” Loki whines — actually whines, Thor thinks incredulously. “I hadn’t planned that far ahead. I just… I’m dealing with a lot right now with some of the girls at the harem, so when these boys confronted me today I just… I just got so _mad_ –“

 

Thor makes sure to level a most austere look at him. “What have I told you?”

 

Loki sighs and rolls his eyes. “To behave?” He says it as if it makes him sick to even entertain such an idea, let alone actually do it; and with an inward laugh, Thor supposes that it probably does. Clearly, doing as he is told is not Loki’s natural state.

 

“No.” Thor then remembers back to when he had Loki brought to his office, and how he did, in fact, tell him to behave. “Well, yes, but besides that.”

 

When Loki just blinks at Thor, seemingly perplexed, Thor groans in exasperation. “I told you to let me know if someone was bothering you!”

 

“How?” Loki demands acidly. “How am I supposed to do that when I’m locked away in your harem, unable to come find you –“

 

“Call Heimdall!” Thor cries. “He will inform me!”

 

“Well, you didn’t tell me that!” Loki snarls.

 

It seemingly hits Loki at the same time as it does Thor that they are being far louder than they ought to be. Without letting go of Loki’s neck, Thor leans back just enough to peek around the edge of the alcove again, ensuring that the corridor is still empty before he returns to pinning Loki.

 

“Next time someone is bothering you,” he tells him, softly yet sternly, “call Heimdall. Next time you are in trouble, _call Heimdall._ He will inform me immediately, and I will come to you.”

 

Loki furrows his brows, looking at him in confusion and frustration, and Thor is tempted to bang his own head against the wall for Loki’s lack of understanding — or more likely, his refusal to.

 

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ go off by yourself again — do you hear me?”

 

“I hear you,” Loki says weakly, still looking at Thor like he is a puzzle Loki cannot figure out.

 

Thor knows the feeling all too well.

 

“I mean it, Loki. I’m trying to protect you.” Thor hesitates. “I don’t… it’s not safe for you right now, I fear, after the things the traitor said…”

 

“I understand,” Loki mumbles.

 

Unable to help himself, Thor takes his thumb, resting by Loki’s right ear, and carefully strokes the pad of it over a sharp, rosy cheekbone. Loki shivers beneath his touch, but he does not try to pull away this time, shyly looking up at Thor with big, slightly wet eyes.

 

Thanks to the rays of light filtering through the window, Thor is suddenly struck by the brilliant color of Loki’s irises. It hits him, then, that he has only been this close to Loki in dim lighting before now, save for when they were in the prison cell — but Thor was definitely too upset and worried about Loki’s well being at the time to pay much attention to the beauty of his eyes.

 

But they are beautiful — big and round and heavily lashed, his irises a breathtaking green with swirls of blue that are made all the more noticeable thanks to the color of Loki’s tunic. These eyes could rival the most resplendent emeralds in his treasury, Thor thinks, and notices that no matter what emotions Loki expresses through his face and his body, there is always some sort of strange, potent energy glittering darkly behind those eyes.

 

Mischief, perhaps. Chaos.

 

And despite the bright light hitting them now, Loki’s pupils remain large and black as he looks at Thor, his dark, too-long eyelashes only brushing against smooth, porcelain skin whenever his heavy lids are forced to blink.

 

And then Thor forces himself to stop, to stop admiring and to imagine those eyes blackened by those boys’ hands, instead — lest he forget himself and start admiring other parts of Loki as well, like the pale freckles that dot the delicate skin of his upper cheeks and nose, all but invisible to the naked eye unless one is standing as close to Loki as Thor is, and in such good lighting; or his reddened, freshly-bitten lips.

 

Those, Thor absolutely refuses to look at.

 

“What do they look like?” Thor questions, in such a tone that Loki will not dare lie to him.

 

“They… one of them is my height, the other two a little shorter… they all have brown hair…” Loki laughs a little. “I try not to look too closely, to be honest. They aren’t exactly what I’d consider to be attractive.” When Thor continues to look unamused, Loki smiles a bit sheepishly and adds, “One of them is wearing this hideous purple shirt? It’s truly ugly, your majesty; you’ll gag when you see it.“

 

Thor wonders if he is being this difficult on purpose.

 

Loki then frowns at Thor. “Why do you –“

 

“Stay here,” Thor commands, tightening his hold around Loki’s neck in a brief warning before releasing him and exiting the alcove.

 

“Ullr!” Thor calls, striding back towards the stairs.

 

The messenger is quick to rush over to him. “Y-yes, your majesty?”

 

Thor jerks his head, motioning for Ullr to follow him before marching straight back to the alcove. He reaches one arm inside the alcove and pulls Loki out unceremoniously by the wrist, ignoring the slight yelp he makes in surprise. “Take him back to the harem where he belongs,” he instructs Ullr, who nods frantically. “Do not let him out of your sight until he is in Balder and Skadi’s hands.”

 

Satisfied, he turns back to Loki, only to find that the boy has closed himself off completely, arms crossed and eyes downcast. Thor can tell that he is struggling not to cry, and it pains Thor, because he does not want to be the source of Loki’s tears; but ultimately, he does nothing to comfort Loki.

 

The boy needs this, needs to be scared into staying where he will be safe, where Thor can keep an eye on him and protect him.

 

And so he does not say another word as Ullr gently takes hold of Loki’s bicep and begins to lead him away.

 

Thor watches their backs until he can see them no more, and then he takes the quickest path to the healing wing, his rage growing with every step that he takes.

 

He will have words with Hoenir eventually; but first, there is something else he must do.

 

* * *

 

Ullr cannot stop glancing nervously at Loki the entire walk back to the harem, but Loki refuses to look up from the ground, too afraid that he might start crying at any moment.

 

He is furious, at himself and at Thor and at those stupid, cruel boys; and he is once again left absolutely mortified by another confrontation with a king that he is supposed to be making desire him.

 

If Thor did not think of him as a child before, then he certainly must now. And Hoenir will surely hear of this, and maybe even King Odin and Queen Frigga; and Loki will never be chosen queen, will never be able to help Jotunheim.

 

And all because he wanted revenge.

 

Despite all of that, though, and despite how confusing Thor was — from chastising Loki so harshly one minute to staring softly, passionately into his eyes the next — Loki cannot forget the moment when Thor first grabbed him, and the sickening fear that paralyzed Loki’s body.

 

Later he will think more on how Thor held him so tightly against his significantly larger body, and the way he once again pinned Loki against a wall with such ease that even thinking about it makes Loki’s head spin; but for now it is the fear that someone — Tyr, another traitor, anyone — was about to kill him (or worse) that is at the forefront of Loki’s mind.

 

The whole thing makes him sick to his stomach.

 

When Ullr finally leads him inside the harem, Loki pulls away from him and runs past a concerned Balder and Skadi, darting upstairs and into his bedroom where he nearly tears his tunic in his haste to get it off.

 

“A lot of good you did me,” Loki tells it bitterly, balling it up and petulantly throwing it in a corner before slipping on a softer, plainer, light grey shirt and kicking off his sandals.

 

He then dramatically collapses face first onto his bed and waits for Balder and Skadi to come chide him. Sure enough, his door opens and closes a few minutes later, and Loki hears both of them come to stand over him.

 

“What happened?” Skadi asks with a sigh, pulling his chair back around to the bed again.

 

“Did Ullr not tell you?” Loki mumbles into his pillow.

 

“We want to hear it from you.”

 

The bed dips down as someone sits beside him, and then Loki feels a hand come to rest on his back.

 

“Loki,” Balder intones softly. “What happened?”

 

“Oh, nothing at all, really, except that I ruined my chance to become queen of Asgard.”

 

“Ullr told us you ran off after your examination,” Skadi says, her tone more clipped than before. “Why?”

 

“You can tell us, Loki,” Balder soothes, rubbing his back a little. “It’s all right.”

 

After a moment, Loki turns his head and tells them everything that happened, from the boys insulting Loki — as well as Loki’s history with them — to Thor finding him and chastising him. He leaves out only a few details, like the humiliating comment that Thor made just before pulling him into the alcove, which he is working to repress so that he will forget about it completely; and he only pauses a couple of times when he is on the verge of tears, to which Balder rubs his back — not as good as Angrboda can, but Loki appreciates it all the same — until he is able to continue.

 

By the time he is finished, he expects a serious lecture, with Skadi huffing and rolling her eyes while Balder shakes his head at Loki, looking disappointed; but then, “You don’t make a lot of friends, do you?” Skadi’s lips twitch as she says it, and Balder guffaws.

 

Loki looks at them incredulously. “Why are you laughing? Don’t you see?”

 

“See what?” Balder asks, chuckling a little.

 

Loki abruptly jumps and twists around, dislodging Balder’s hand as he moves to sit cross-legged on the bed. “He must hate me!” he cries, burying his face in his hands. “He must think me so _childish_ , and stupid and weak and –“

 

“If he did, do you think he would call on you, and you alone, to help him in matters related to high treason?” Balder points out.

 

Loki drops his hands. “…Well, he obviously won’t call on me anymore _now_!”

 

“How do you know?”

 

Loki gapes at him. “ _Because_ , that’s why!”

 

“Loki, you’re getting worked up over nothing,” Skadi says with a patronizing roll of her eyes. “There’s no need to worry so.”

 

“But you’re the one who said that the king wants a well-behaved queen –“

 

“I said ‘maybe,’” Skadi corrects. Her lips twitch again. “Though if it’s any consolation, Balder and I would absolutely _love_ a well-behaved Loki.”

 

Balder laughs again.

 

“I… what? How can you both –“

 

“Besides, how many seconds did you say the king gazed into your eyes, again?”

 

“ _At least_ ten, which doesn’t sound like much, but let me tell you — it was _agonizing_.”

 

“Agonizing? Really?” Skadi asks, and Loki huffs.

 

“Loki, the king got lost in the beauty of your eyes while trying to reprimand you,” Balder says wryly. “Like Skadi said, I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

 

“…He probably just spaced out or something.”

 

“Loki,” they both groan at the same time.

 

“One too many knocks to the head will do that to you, you know, as will centuries of consuming more mead than is healthy…” Loki trails off as he begins to hear muffled shouting in the distance.

 

“Is that coming from outside?” Balder asks Skadi, and Loki leaps off of his bed and opens his window, leaning onto the windowsill so he can stick his head outside.

 

His sharp gasp has Balder and Skadi crowding beside him to get a look.

 

“Would you look at that,” Balder breathes out.

 

“You were saying, Loki?” Skadi asks pointedly.

 

They do not need to ask whom the three boys are that King Thor is literally dragging along the pathway to the stables while he yells at them.

 

As soon as his brain fully registers what is happening, Loki runs downstairs and into the garden in record time, only to find many of the girls already gathered around the wall to watch, sighing in pleasure as they look upon their strong, handsome king. People on the other side of the harem wall are watching, too, from guards and servants to warriors and nobles, all of them looking more than a little bemused as they take in the spectacle before them.

 

And it truly is a spectacle, with one of Thor’s hands pulling not one, but two boys along by their shirts, while his other hand is wrapped in a vice-like grip around another boy’s purple-clad arm.

 

Loki does not pay attention to his fellow competitors, many of whom still find it in them to send him quick glares as he steps up to an unoccupied corner of the wall, nor does he notice the two finely-dressed men who are staring at him rather than Thor; all he can do is watch with wide, wide eyes as Thor publically shames the three boys caught in his punishing grasp.

 

“If you do not respect what is _mine_ ,” Thor tells them, “then you do not respect _me_.”

 

Loki gasps again.

 

“And you will _not_ be allowed back into my palace until you learn to respect me and all that I own.” Thor halts and sends each boy a look that would cause even the bravest of warriors to cower in absolute fear. “Is that clear?”

 

Each boy whimpers, stuttering out apologies until Thor nods, seemingly satisfied.

 

“Now, get out before I have my guards throw you out.”

 

As soon as he releases them, the boys stumble away from him and take off towards the stables, running as if their lives depended on it.

 

Thor stays where he is and watches after them, rage etched onto his face for all to see, and does not react as an incensed Tyr strides over and orders the small crowd that is gathered to disperse, which they wisely begin to do so. Balder and Skadi choose that moment to start herding the girls back inside the harem, too, but Loki stays where he is, eyes still impossibly wide as he gazes upon Thor.

 

Tyr then hisses something at Thor, low enough that Loki cannot hear it; but Thor remains unresponsive, and so Tyr throws up his hands and leaves, sending Loki a look of vexation as he does.

 

It should terrify Loki, truly; but he cannot find it in himself to care about Tyr right now, not when Thor just defended him like that.

 

And then, when everyone else has finally left, Thor turns and locks eyes with Loki.

 

Loki trembles a little at the fierce look in his eyes, even stronger now than it was earlier when Thor trapped him in that alcove. It is both protective and possessive and also challenging, as if he dares Loki to question his protection, to doubt his word again; and Loki’s lips part at the burning intensity of it.

 

After a moment of staring, Thor gives him the slightest of nods, and Loki instinctively returns it. Then Thor turns and walks away, and does not look back.

 

“As I said,” Skadi suddenly declares from behind Loki, sounding as gleeful as Skadi possibly can sound. “No need to worry.”

 

Loki lets out a strangled noise in response that could be construed as an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I am just going to resign myself to long chapters from now on, sigh.~~
> 
>  
> 
> All of that in one day... poor Loki, how I torture him so. But yay, the first Thor/Loki scene from Thor's POV! I swear to Odin, I had this scene in mind BEFORE TDW came out and we saw Thor put his hand over Loki's mouth and pin him against that pillar... but it certainly helped me write out what I had in mind ;D
> 
> Last but not least, ncee on here made this BEAUTIFUL fanart of Persian Princess Loki on his one night with the king, which all of you should look at: http://czarnyma.tumblr.com/post/78165562527/elizabeth-taylor-loki-for-coma-greys-fantastic


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, say it with me now: I’m SO SORRY for taking so long this time. In my defense, I have been pretty sick on and off since March (goddamn sinus infections!), but this chapter was also pretty difficult to write for some reason. I don't know why.
> 
> But it’s finally done, all +16,000 words of it, so I hope everyone enjoys!

If pressed, Thor might be able to admit that he overreacted a little.

 

Only a little, though.

 

It did not take him long to hunt down the three boys who insulted Loki’s honor, and while it was with a fairly level head that he crept up on them, the boys brought his rage down upon themselves thrice-fold when they began speaking about Loki in a manner that made Thor’s blood boil. It seems that Loki still lied to Thor about what they said, or rather left a few things out, which Thor discovered when the boys started laughing about the look on Loki’s face when they told him how ugly he was, and how King Thor would have to be drunk to take him unless it was from behind.

 

Thor was furious, to put it lightly, and also filled with utter disbelief. Loki is impossibly lovely — to call him ugly, or to imply that one would have to be drunk to want to have sex with him, is simply preposterous to Thor.

 

Nay, it is blasphemy.

 

(And maybe Thor would take Loki from behind, face down and ass up as Thor pounds into him with abandon; but he would also put Loki on his back and spread his legs to take him gently, grip his little waist with both hands and bounce him up and down in his lap, and fuck him in many other ways and positions that Thor absolutely will not fantasize about because of some strange sense of guilt that he has yet to make sense of.)

 

But it was when the boy clad in a hideous purple shirt — and by the nine, Thor thought, Loki was right — spoke of putting Loki in his place once and for all that Thor could no longer hold himself back. He marched over to the three idiotic boys and shouted at them for disturbing the peace with their obnoxious laughter, sullying the House of Odin with their crude comments, and insulting the harem youth. He was sure to stress ‘youth,’ or ‘girls,’ lest any ears listening in become suspicious of Thor’s so-called relationship with the male sorcerer in his harem, but he made it clear that the youth are his property; and every Asgardian knows that to disrespect the king’s property is to disrespect the king himself, and can have extremely dire consequences.

 

If anything, Thor let them off easy.

 

This way, they will not dare bother Loki again; and because Thor purposefully dragged them as far as the harem and saved his final words for the moment he saw familiar black hair and white skin out of the corner of his eye, Loki will know what Thor did was for him, and him alone. And judging by the way he looked at Thor, all flushed cheeks and wide eyes and parted lips, Loki received his message loud and clear.

 

Surely he will not be so quick to doubt Thor’s word again — though Thor is not so naïve as to think that Loki will not continue to be difficult.

 

In fact, Thor is counting on it, and happily so — another thing he tries not to think too hard about, beyond telling himself that the pretty youth is simply entertaining to Thor.

 

After scaring off those boys, Thor may or may not have overreacted a little further and called Hoenir into his study, where his yelling was only spurred on by Hoenir’s little eye rolls and scoffs and disrespectful mutterings. Unlike Loki, Hoenir has neither the looks nor the charm to get away with such behavior; but as always, Thor is forced to remind himself that he is Odin’s best friend, and so he can do nothing more than yell at the old man for foolishly and irresponsibly letting Loki out of his sight.

 

It was certainly satisfying, though, when Thor brought up Eir, and how oh-so interesting it was that Hoenir was distracted by her of all things, and say, Hoenir sure is spending a lot of time in the healing wing these days. Hoenir’s eyes flashed furiously at him, then, all but daring him to continue; but a smirking Thor merely gestured at the doors instead, and chuckled proudly as Hoenir stalked from the room.

 

Predictably, Thor is called to Fensalir the next day, which is where he stands now, in a small clearing amidst the rose garden. Before him sits Frigga on one bench, beautifully framed by the yellow rose bushes behind her and surrounded by her handmaidens, who are spread out on the other benches and the soft grass in repose.

 

Thor tries not to roll his eyes as the handmaidens giggle and swoon and bat their eyelashes at him in a teasing manner, as they always do.

 

“Fulla, if you and the others will excuse us,” Frigga tells her head handmaiden. Fulla sighs, clearly wanting to witness whatever is to come, but obeys her queen and close friend, rising and motioning for the other handmaidens to do the same.

 

They follow her out of the small clearing without a word, though Gefjun winks at Thor as she walks by, and it is surely not an accident when Lofn brushes against his arm as she passes him.

 

The older handmaidens have done this since he was but a boy, naïve and susceptible to the charms of beautiful women; and they continue to do so despite the fact that Thor is their reigning king, now, and not their adorable little golden prince anymore. And to make matters worse, the younger, newer handmaidens are all too happy to follow in their footsteps, as if it is part of their job to antagonize their king. Thor would be annoyed if he did not hold each of these women in such dear regard, as they are both faithful servants and dear friends of his mother and, in serving her well, serve him, too.

 

If only his father had such good taste in companionship as his mother does, Thor thinks with a soft, lamenting sigh.

 

“My son,” Frigga says, turning her sweet smile on Thor. “Come and sit with me, won’t you?”

 

“What do you want?” Thor asks cautiously, but fondly, coming to sit on one of the benches across from his mother.

 

“Can a mother not simply wish to speak to her son?”

 

“Nothing with you or father is ever simple,” Thor tells her, though he returns her smile. “Where is Freyja?”

 

“Chasing after those kittens of hers, last I heard,” Frigga answers with a fond roll of her eyes, and Thor laughs.

 

Resting his forearms on his thighs, he listens to the sound of waterfalls in the distance and breathes in the sweet perfume — so similar to the scent of Loki’s hair, Thor recalls — wafting from the multitude of colorful blossoms around him as he waits for Frigga to speak her mind.

 

“I heard about the little… altercation outside the harem yesterday,” Frigga begins, the smile on her face knowing, but not judgmental. “Care to tell me what happened?”

 

“What did you hear about it, exactly?” Thor asks instead of answering.

 

Frigga’s eyes gleam in a manner shockingly similar to Loki’s. “That you dragged three boys kicking and screaming out of the palace and yelled at them for disrespecting what is yours.”

 

Thor clears his throat and nods reluctantly. “That about sums it up, yes.”

 

“What,” Frigga says carefully, “were they disrespecting as to send you in such a rage, my son?”

 

“The harem youth,” Thor confesses after a moment, knowing that there is no use in completely lying to her.

 

“All of them? Or one in particular?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Thor deflects weakly, looking away in order to ignore the poorly concealed smirk on Frigga’s face. “They were disruptive and crude.”

 

“And so you scolded them in front of the harem, for all the youth to see,” Frigga finishes.

 

“Is there a point to all of this?” Thor grunts.

 

“Only that referring to the candidates as _yours_ is not exactly the best way to go about winning their hearts.”

 

Thor stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded. “First of all, I thought they were supposed to be winning _my_ heart, and secondly, they _are_ mine.”

 

“Technically speaking, yes, they are,” Frigga assents gently. “But you can never truly own an individual, Thor — not every part of them. You may own their body, and you may be in charge of their rights; but their mind and spirit are their own. And the heart of each and every girl in that harem — and the boy — is something only they, and he, can give.”

 

Thor rolls his eyes. “I know that.”

 

Frigga raises an eyebrow. “Do you? Because you didn’t with your last queen.”

 

Instead of getting angry, Thor just sighs. “You’re right. But trust me, I am more than aware that no one could ever truly control that boy.” Thor nearly chokes as he rushes to add, “And the girls.”

 

Frigga smiles. “Nonetheless, while I understand the point you had to make to those cruel young men, I only suggest that you tread carefully in the future, especially with your chosen candidate. You want to make your future wife and queen feel wanted and loved and protected — but not owned.”

 

“You say that like I’ve chosen a candidate already,” Thor grumbles.

 

“Well,” Frigga says, smile turning into a grin, “when you do choose, then. I am not trying to scold you, my son. I only wish to give you advice.”

 

“I know,” Thor says, softening. “Thank you, mother. You advice is well heeded.”

 

Frigga nods. “Good. We are here for you, Thor, if you ever want to talk — your father and I, your friends… Never forget that.”

 

“I won’t,” Thor says with a smile, and stands to peck her on the cheek before taking his leave.

 

“And remember what else I told you,” Frigga calls after him as he is walking away. “You’ve made him feel protected. Now it is time to show that you respect him, think of him as an equal.”

 

“Right,” Thor says absentmindedly, not even noticing his mother’s choice of pronouns as he looks at the white, freshly watered roses blooming to one side of the garden.

 

“And be _kind_ to him, Thor. Only then will he consider giving you his heart.”

 

The snow-white petals, so delicate and smooth, remind him of Loki’s soft, beautiful skin.

 

Once he is out of his mother’s sight, Thor looks around and makes sure he is alone before bending down to sniff at a pale pink rose.

 

Yes, Thor thinks with a smile; Loki’s hair smells of roses.

 

But when he realizes that the particular flower before him is the exact same shade of pink that blooms high on Loki’s cheeks whenever he blushes, Thor shakes his head and decides to hurry and make himself scarce before he starts equating the red roses to Loki’s lips after he’s bitten and licked at them nervously, or comparing the greenery to Loki’s stunning, otherworldly eyes.

 

After all, he is no lovesick maiden or bawdy poet that he must come up with poor metaphors in an attempt to describe the beauty of Loki.

 

Such a thing is indescribable, anyway.

 

And besides, he has more important things to do, like protecting his errant little sorcerer instead of mooning over him, and investigating Njord and Vinar.

 

With that firmly in mind, Thor squares his shoulders and begins the walk back to his study.

 

There is much work to be done.

 

* * *

  

“Posture,” Skadi says, her voice clipped and precise as she clearly enunciates both syllables.

 

A slight echo adds to the effect as well, for the room they are in today is large and empty of furniture, with the youth lined up in six rows of four and ready for instruction.

 

Skadi walks between each row slowly, taking in the stance of every youth with keen eyes. “Your feet are too far apart,” she tells Eisa.

 

To Amora, “Your feet aren’t far enough apart.”

 

“Lorelei, hold your shoulders back a bit more.”

 

“Einmyria, relax your arms.”

 

“Chin up, Sigyn.”

 

And then she gets to Loki. “Truly horrendous,” she tells him, and Loki’s jaw drops in outrage.

 

“What do you –“

 

“Straighten your spine,” Skadi demands, and has the gall to use the long, thin stick she acquired from who knows where to prod at his back until she achieves the desired effect.

 

“A queen of Asgard _cannot_ have bad posture,” Skadi tells them once she has finally moved away from Loki. “You must be beautiful, but also appear regal, powerful, and commanding… and slumping over accomplishes none of this.”

 

As she lectures on, Loki’s mind wanders as per usual, and he thinks of the one thing that has been plaguing his mind for the past several days: Thor.

 

More specifically, Thor’s defense of Loki, and his declaration of ownership.

 

After the debacle outside the harem, Loki remained in a state of shock for the rest of the day, barely able to string two sentences together — which was not so terrible considering that no one besides Balder and Skadi and sometimes Lorelei talk to him anymore, but the point still stands.

 

When Angrboda visited him that night, having heard what happened and putting two and two together, he ranted and raved like a mad man — about those boys, about Loki not doing as he is told, and about Thor most of all — while Loki sat on his bed in a speechless daze. He only snapped out of it to finally shut his uncle up and make him leave so he could get some sleep.

 

The next day, however, a dreamy look snuck its way onto his face without warning that made Balder laugh and Skadi narrow her eyes every time they looked at him. Loki did not pay them nor the girls eyeing him even more strangely any mind, though, too caught up in the realization that Thor defended him.

 

Thor, the Golden King of Asgard, supreme ruler of the nine realms — defended Loki.

 

Nobody has ever really defended Loki before — besides Angrboda, of course — and certainly not so fiercely and publically as Thor did.

 

Of course, Thor had to be somewhat discrete, as he did not actually call the boys out for disrespecting Loki in particular; but Loki has no doubt in his mind that Thor would have were there no scandal to be had in doing so.

 

Then there were the memories of being held against Thor’s body, and how all-encompassing Thor was standing behind him like that, which only added to Loki’s dream-like state — though he tries not to think about why.

 

And then the next day dawned, and Loki was seething before he even rose out of bed that morning. “How dare he,” he had hissed aloud, glaring at his ceiling. “How dare he refer to me as _his_. He doesn’t _own_ me!”

 

Suddenly, what had seemed so attractive the day before became utterly barbaric in his mind. When he thought of Thor restraining— not holding, but restraining — him, it was the feeling of Thor’s armor digging painfully into his back that Loki remembered, as well as the mortifying threat whispered into his ear.

 

The indignity of it all had Loki glaring and sulking the entire day, snapping at anyone who came too close, and so Balder and Skadi wisely left him be — though not without sending him long-suffering looks that told him without words just how immature they thought he was being.

 

Now it has been four days since the incident, and Loki’s emotions have finally settled down a bit to make room for logic.

 

On one hand, he is Thor’s, whether he likes it or not, and he would be foolish to try to pretend otherwise. Thor can do anything he likes with Loki, from making him his queen to throwing him in the dungeons for no apparent reason. He can use Loki however he sees fit and toss him away at any time, and there is nothing that Loki can do about it — unless, of course, he escapes Asgard, but that is not going to happen as long as there is the slightest chance of becoming queen.

 

On the other hand, Loki’s mind and spirit are still his own; and neither Asgard nor its king can ever take those away from him.

 

But either way, it matters little. Loki’s mission is to become queen so that he can help Jotunheim; and if part of seducing the king is to send Thor into possessive displays of jealousy and rage, then so be it.

 

(And perhaps he really is telling himself all of this because a small part of him liked it when Thor verbally claimed him, most likely the same traitorous part of him that finds it exciting whenever Thor pins him against hard surfaces; but Loki has a special place in the back of his mind reserved for those confusing, forbidden thoughts, and so he does not think on it.)

 

“Loki!” Skadi snaps, and strikes the stick against the backs of his thighs.

 

“ _Ow_!” Loki cries, more out of surprise than from the slight sting. He ignores some of the other girls’ laughter and looks to Balder. “Balder, take that thing away from her!”

 

From his perch in the corner, Balder looks sympathetic, but holds up his hands as if to say that he would were he not afraid of Skadi hitting him, too.

 

“Straighten up and pay attention,” Skadi barks, and gently swats at his legs once more before moving on.

 

With Skadi’s back turned, Loki’s glare turns into a smirk as he wonders what would happen if he called on King Thor right now for this offense; but his smirk fades all too soon when he remembers that the king would only laugh and approve of Skadi’s methods, and possibly even have a few suggestions of his own.

 

“I can’t _stand_ him,” Loki mutters under his breath, and pays no attention to the surrounding girls who send him odd looks.

 

But then Sigyn, standing a few spaces in front of him and to the right — because she never stands or sits beside Loki anymore — looks back at him in reluctant curiosity, and their eyes lock for the first time in days. Loki’s gaze turns pleading as he looks at her, but it only takes a few seconds for Sigyn to harden and turn away.

 

“Glut, don’t make me tell you again!”

 

When Skadi’s stick connects to Glut’s posterior, she lets out a dramatic, un-called for wail that has Loki and all of the other girls laughing at her.

 

At least he is not the only one, Loki thinks with a satisfied grin.

 

But enough of that, he then tells himself — back to more important matters.

 

Thor finds him beautiful, even if only objectively, and he clearly has some sort of fondness for Loki judging by how protective he is. And he obviously thinks that Loki is both smart and trustworthy, someone whom he can confide in and seek council.

 

But Thor has also seen Loki immature and misbehaving and impulsively foolish at times. And while it has not seemed to hurt his chances thus far, Loki cannot continue to look so childish in front of the king. Surely someone such as Thor could never truly desire Loki if he cannot see him as someone powerful, someone worthy of respect — as much of an equal as anyone can be to the king of Asgard.

 

With that thought, Loki looks to Skadi and begins actively listening to what she has to say.

 

“Image,” Skadi teaches, “is power. And to have power is to have respect.”

 

Loki has captured Thor’s attention, and he has been gifted with Thor’s protection.

 

Now it is time to gain his respect.

  

* * *

 

Thor thinks long and hard over the next week about his options.

 

He must be as Loki, he realizes at one point: clever and shrewd, a step ahead of the remaining traitors in his kingdom.

 

Thor sighs. This will not be easy.

 

It is not that Thor is unintelligent — far from it, in fact. It is only that he is used to taking a more direct approach, demanding information or sending others to retrieve it for him simply because he is Thor. Working from the shadows is not how he naturally operates.

 

Loki is probably better at such things, Thor thinks, and not with any derision. The boy is clearly skilled at sneaking around mostly undetected which, combined with his level of cunning, hints at a talent for being underhanded.

 

But Thor will do this himself, for now. Only once he has gathered as much information as he can will he consider seeking Loki’s advice again — but not at the expense of exposing Loki to further danger. He will just have to figure out a safer way to consult with Loki when — if, he tries to tell himself — the time comes.

 

With that settled in his mind, Thor’s first order of business is to speak with Heimdall.

 

“The boy is doing well,” Heimdall tells him as soon as he steps inside the observatory, in lieu of an actual greeting.

 

Thor pauses, frowning. “…That’s not what I’m here about.”

 

The look of pure, genuine surprise on Heimdall’s face has Thor fuming a little on the inside, but he manages to keep his face relatively blank. “I’d like you to keep an eye on two of my advisors,” he tells him quietly. “Njord and Vinar, to be specific.”

 

Heimdall raises his eyebrows in curiosity, and Thor hesitates. Besides his parents and Tyr, there is probably no one he trusts more than Heimdall, but he was not planning on telling any of them what is going on until he has more of a concrete idea himself.

 

However, it will certainly help speed things along if Heimdall actually knows what he is supposed to be looking for, and so Thor elaborates, “I think they may be up to something… possibly concerning the break-in.”

 

Heimdall hums deep in his throat and turns to look out at the stars. “If I may be honest,” he begins a moment later, “I have never liked Njord. He is rather…”

 

“Fake?”

 

Heimdall looks surprised again, and Thor grinds his teeth together. “Yes, actually.”

 

“And Vinar is quiet,” Thor says. “Angry.”

 

They are silent for a moment, and then Heimdall turns back towards Thor and gives him a firm nod. “I will let you know if I see or hear anything suspicious.”

 

“Thank you, Heimdall.”

 

Thor goes to leave and silently curses himself when he finds himself hesitating again. “You say he is well?” he asks gruffly without looking over his shoulder.

 

To his credit, Heimdall does not laugh. “He is. Lonely, but –“

 

Thor spins around. “Lonely?”

 

“From what I’ve gathered, his friends have all abandoned him.”

 

“Why?” Thor demands sharply.

 

“They see him as competition.” He says it matter-of-factly, but Thor does not miss the way he eyes Thor knowingly.

 

Thor is not sure how to respond to that, or what he even thinks about it; and so he leaves without another word, forcing himself to push Loki into the back of his mind as he continues towards his next destination: the palace library.

 

Enormous and opulent, the grand palace library is truly one of the greatest wonders of Asgard. There are six floors open to the public, each seemingly wide and spacious though in all actuality are crammed with bookshelves overflowing with books and scrolls and parchments on all kinds of topics, from history and politics to science and magic to fiction of every genre. There is also a growing digital archive, as well as a fine staff of librarians who are knowledgeable, efficient, and always ready to assist.

 

Simply put, name a topic — any topic — and it can be found in the palace library.

 

The seventh and final floor of the library houses the royal archives, reserved only for those who are granted access to them, a list of which includes the royal family, advisors and handmaidens, and high-ranking guards and warriors and sorcerers. And in the very back of the seventh floor is the small room that houses Odin’s personal archive, full of dark and ancient magical texts that are considered far too dangerous for the general populace to be allowed to read. The list of people who are granted access to this room is even more exclusive than the seventh floor as a whole, but not so exclusive as to tell Thor who could have researched the dark spell that was used to call those Frost Giants into the vault; which is why Thor goes straight to Bragi, the head librarian.

 

“My king,” Bragi says kindly upon seeing him, and bows. “It’s not often that I see you in here since completing your studies.”

 

“You know me,” Thor says with a shrug. “I always preferred hands-on learning to books.”

 

“Yes, so your tutors used to complain about when you were a boy,” Bragi shoots back good-naturedly, and Thor smiles. “Now, what can I do for his majesty?”

 

Thor pulls him over to a deserted corner of the first floor before quietly saying, “I have an important task for you concerning my father’s archive. I need you to –“

 

“Is this about the break-in?” Bragi near-whispers, and then dips his head apologetically. “Pardon me, sire; I did not mean to interrupt. It is only that I have already gone over the list of people who are granted access to the archive with Lord Tyr, and he approved –“

 

“This is for my personal records only,” Thor tells him. “I simply need you to keep a written record of everyone who enters my father’s archives — their name, what time they arrive, and what time they leave… as well as what each person accesses if you’re able to find that out without raising suspicion. And if anyone besides myself or my parents tries to take anything from the archive, tell them that all materials are no longer allowed outside the room.”

 

“That has always been the rule –“

 

“I want it enforced, then. Make sure that no one smuggles anything out.” Knowing how much Bragi hates it when the order of what he considers to be his library is even slightly upset, Thor adds, “I will place guards outside of it if I have to.”

 

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” Bragi is quick to respond, and Thor holds back a smirk.

 

“Hopefully not. And Bragi?” Thor keeps his posture unthreatening, but lowers the tone of his voice to convey how serious he is when he says, “Remember, this is for my personal records only. This does not involve Tyr or Hoenir or anyone else. Not even my parents. Do you understand?”

 

Bragi looks intrigued, but he is smart enough not to ask questions. “Yes, my king.”

 

“The other librarians may assist you as needed, but they are not to know the real reason why — same with anyone else who asks.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And if you see anything suspicious, no matter who or what it may involve, you will come to me immediately.”

 

“You have my word.”

 

Thor studies Bragi for a long moment, and sees nothing but honesty in his face; so with a simple parting nod, he exits the library.

 

He is on his way to his study when he comes across Freyja, looking as harried and frazzled as Freyja can look — short of breath, pink-cheeked, and with a few hairs out of place; yet all the more stunning for it.

 

“What are you doing?” Thor inquires, lips quirked in poorly concealed amusement as he watches her scour the corridor, looking under every table and peeking inside every alcove.

 

Freyja turns towards Thor and lets out a tired sigh. “I’m looking for my kittens.”

 

Thor snorts.

 

“Every time I so much as turn around, they’re gone again!” Freyja cries, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

 

“Have you considered locking them in a room somewhere?”

 

“I did. Just this morning.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m still not sure how they managed to escape.”

 

“Maybe they’re protesting the fact that you still haven’t named them,” Thor teases, and Freyja huffs. “Where do you think they go all the time?”

 

“Who knows,” Freyja answers tiredly. “Anywhere there’s mischief to be had, I’m sure.”

 

Thor blinks. And then he bursts out laughing.

 

Freyja furrows her lovely brows. “Is there a joke I’m missing, or…?”

 

“You should name them after Loki,” Thor says unthinkingly, still sniggering as he walks past her. “Both of them.”

 

“Loki?” Freyja calls after his retreating back. “Who is Loki?”

 

Thor just laughs again.

  

* * *

 

In the bathhouse antechamber, Loki stands in front of one of the mirrors in naught but a towel, eyes narrowed at his newly dried and freshly combed curls.

 

At another mirror further to his right is Amora who, with a flick of her fingers, causes her wet, wavy locks instantly dry and straighten. Inwardly cursing his bracelets for what he guesses is the billionth time, Loki looks at the many products laid out on the counter before impulsively grabbing a bottle of hair gel. He squirts a decent amount into his palm and rubs his hands together before running his fingers through his hair, affectively smoothing it down.

 

“Hmm.” Not quite.

 

He then pushes his hair back, gelling it so that it curls neatly just behind his ears.

 

Better, he decides.

 

Just then, Sigyn walks into the antechamber. “Hey,” Loki calls to her, “what do you –“ He trails off as she walks straight past him and into the bathhouse without a word. “Think.”

 

It was worth a try, he supposes, and longs for the time when he would not have cared so much.

 

“Is she _still_ not talking to you?” Lorelei asks blithely as she slides up next to him. She is also in a towel but, like Loki, has it wrapped around her waist instead of her chest, baring her breasts without cause or shame.

 

Loki keeps his eyes above her chest as he frowns at her. “Try not to sound so concerned.”

 

“Sigyn’s not talking to you, Amora may or may not be planning a slow death for you, all of the other girls hate you…” Lorelei smiles and slaps Loki’s arm playfully. “It looks like it really is just the two of us!”

 

“Joy,” Loki responds flatly. Then, “So, what do you think?”

 

Lorelei purses her lips thoughtfully. “It’s nice! But kind of severe. It makes you look older, more… intimidating.”

 

Loki bounces on his heels a little and beams. “Perfect.”

 

Lorelei raises an eyebrow. “…Not so intimidating anymore.”

 

Ignoring her, Loki continues to experiment with his hair, fluffing it and combing the ends with his fingers until it looks a bit more natural. As he does this, Lorelei gets to work on plucking her eyebrows; and after a minute or so, Loki discreetly peers at her exposed breasts in the mirror.

 

Round and voluptuous, with pert nipples and creamy, unblemished skin — Lorelei arguably has the most beautiful breasts of all the girls in the harem; and she knows it, Loki knows it, and the other girls reluctantly know it as well.

 

But as Loki gazes at them, it is not lust that he feels — it is envy. Surely King Thor would be attracted to Lorelei’s generous chest more than his own, which is flat and not remotely feminine at all.

 

Then he glances over at Amora, dressed only in smallclothes, and takes note of her tall, thin figure and impossibly long legs — and yes, Loki is also tall and thin and has even longer legs than Amora; but it seems impossible that Thor would prefer Loki to Amora’s loveliness.

 

Finally, he thinks of Sigyn. Soft yet slender, pretty and demure, ladylike in everything she does and sweeter than anyone Loki has ever met — or used to be, anyway — Sigyn would be a perfect bride, a perfect queen.

 

Even their hair makes them a more attractive candidate than himself, Loki thinks with annoyance, from Lorelei’s shiny, red waves to Amora’s flowing, golden locks to Sigyn, whose chestnut brown hair naturally curls into the most gorgeous ringlets that Loki has ever seen.

 

And then there is Loki’s black, messy hair that can never seem to decide what it wants to look like.

 

Loki sighs and goes to grab the bottle of hair gel again when a hand clamps around his wrist, stopping him. “No more,” Skadi says, a vaguely horrified expression on her face. “No more hair gel.”

 

“I just wanted to –“

 

“I know, but a little goes a long way. Let me show you.”

 

She takes him over to a wide basin and has him lean back until his head is under the spray of water, where she then proceeds to wash the gel out of his hair with skilled hands that never fail to surprise Loki with their tenderness. After rewashing, she takes a flat, wide brush to his hair as she dries it with heat, getting it straighter than Loki ever could before squeezing a dollop of gel into her palm and expertly applying it to his already-rebelling strands.

 

“Well?” Loki asks as they take in the finished product.

 

“You look… formidable,” Skadi decides after a moment, and Loki’s immediate grin causes her lips to twitch. “Just straighten those shoulders of yours, and –“

 

“Skadi, I need your help!” Amora suddenly calls out, looking back and forth between her and Loki enviously.

 

“I need you first!” Glut exclaims, and more voices follow.

 

Skadi looks to Loki and rolls her eyes in such a way that has Loki bringing a hand up to his mouth to keep from snickering. He then steps back and redresses as many of the girls circle around poor Skadi like vultures to get her attention.

 

Just as he is leaving the antechamber, he runs straight into Balder.

 

“Oh, hello, Lo –“ Balder cuts himself off with wide eyes as he takes in Loki’s hair.

 

“Like it?” Loki asks with a smirk. “It was my idea, though Skadi helped me with it.”

 

Balder pauses, looking distressed. “It suits you well, Loki, truly; but…”

 

“But what?” Loki asks, smirk fading.

 

“You look so… young and sweet with your hair curled naturally about your face,” Balder finishes forlornly.

 

“But I don’t want to look sweet anymore!” He grins at Balder. “I want to look regal and ferocious and _powerful_ … an equal to the king!”

 

Balder bites his lip. “Yes, but –“

 

“I can still be sweet when the occasion calls for it,” Loki says, softening his smile and widening his eyes. He only has to bat his eyelashes just a tad before Balder falls for it, returning Loki’s smile with an amused one of his own.

 

“You are positively lethal,” Balder tells him, shaking his head, and Loki laughs wickedly before flouncing off.

 

He makes a quick stop by the kitchens for an afternoon snack of crackers and hummus, and then to the library for a new book to read before he makes his way outside into the garden to sit in the shade of his tree.

 

He meant to grab a random book on herbs and medicines, having already combed through the harem’s entire selection of magic texts, and also because he is slowly becoming more curious about natural concoctions and spells that he can do without magic intrinsically flowing through his veins; but he had not realized that the book he blindly grabbed from the shelf was the same one that he was forced to consult all those months ago thanks to King Thor and his heavy palm.

 

As soon as he sits down — purposefully slumped over, because Skadi is not watching and his poor back deserves a rest — and flips through the first few pages, he makes the connection; and then he buries his face in the book and lets out an embarrassed whine.

 

It surprises him, then, when a high-pitched mewl is echoed in reply.

 

Slowly lifting his head, Loki twists and turns from where he is seated, trying to figure out where the sound came from. Then another mewl is heard, and then another, and Loki narrows his eyes towards the closest set of shrubs, which are right up against the garden wall.

 

Setting the book aside, Loki carefully crawls the short distance on his hands and knees and halts a safe few feet away the shrubs. “Hello?” he asks, and twin mewls are heard this time.

 

Before he can ask any further questions, two kittens tumble out of the leaves, one right after the other. Loki stares for a moment, surprised, before a bright smile lights up his face.

 

“Why, hello there,” he coos, and holds his hand out.

 

The female kitten, with her sleek grey coat and blue eyes even bluer than Thor’s, hangs back, looking between Loki and his hand warily. But the male kitten, all furry blue hair and grey eyes, bravely marches right up to Loki’s hand and gives his fingers a tentative lick.

 

“I am Loki,” he says, and the male kitten seems to think it an acceptable introduction. He mewls and licks at his fingers some more until Loki carefully stretches out his hand and lightly runs his palm down the kitten’s back. He begins purring immediately, and when the female kitten shyly inches closer to them to get in on the action, Loki uses his other hand to pet her in the same gentle manner.

 

“Where did you two come from?” Loki asks. “You’re too small to have climbed over the wall…” After a moment he retracts his hands, much to the kittens’ dismay, and moves to look around the shrub. And sure enough, there is a hole in the wall hidden just behind it, seemingly weathered away over time and barely big enough for a tiny kitten to squeeze through.

 

Loki looks at it thoughtfully. “Huh.”

 

The kittens start whining for his attention as they rub themselves against his feet and legs, and so Loki moves to settle back against his tree and grins as the kittens eagerly climb into his lap.

 

“I think we’re going to be friends,” Loki tells them, and giggles at the enthusiastic mewls they reply with.

 

“I could use a few friends right now,” he then adds, much more quietly.

 

The purring kittens nuzzle their heads against his belly in response.

 

* * *

  

It happens much sooner than Thor expected it to, honestly.

 

Bragi comes to him personally and tells him in the privacy of his study that Vinar has visited Odin’s archive three nights in the past week alone, and stays for hours on end each time. Heimdall then confirms it.

 

After a short period of deliberation, Thor goes ahead and instructs both Bragi and Heimdall to continue to keep a careful eye on Vinar and Njord, and stresses to Heimdall that he is to alert him immediately if he sees the two advisors meet up somewhere or correspond with one another.

 

As for Thor himself, he feels that he has more than enough to go on, now. For there is no reason that Vinar, who has never expressed any knowledge or interest in magic, would spend so much time in Odin’s archive; just like there is no excuse for Njord’s blatant lies, nor an explanation for their late night meeting with one another — which was probably not even their first, Thor realizes now.

 

It is enough, then, for Thor to begin planning how he will pursue them further, and he knows just who to ask for advice on how to do so: Loki.

 

It takes a while for him to figure out a way for him and Loki to meet without anyone besides Heimdall, Balder, Skadi, and maybe Ullr knowing; and in the end he laughs at the simplicity and obviousness of it. He should of thought of it long ago, but nonetheless.

 

He tries to tell himself that the particular location he plans on taking them to is simply for convenience, but deep down he knows that it is mainly because he wants to do something nice for Loki.

 

To make him feel less lonely.

 

And so he waits until it is a slow night at the palace, with few visitors around and no Njord or Vinar on the premises, and when he knows — after sending Ullr to snoop around the healing wing — that Loki’s uncle is working.

 

Then he steps onto his private balcony, looks to the sky, and calls the rain.

  

* * *

 

After an awkward dinner in which only Balder and Skadi spoke to him and an even worse evening beauty routine in which no one spoke to him at all, Loki lies awake in bed and tries not to cry.

 

He never thought he would miss having friends so much, especially since — besides Svadilfari — he used to never have them at all; but he does. Even the kittens did not show up this afternoon, as they have done for the past few days, and he has not seen that strange raven in a while, either.

 

Perhaps they do not like him anymore, either, Loki thinks sullenly.

 

He sighs and curls up on his side, looking out his window at the night sky that seems to be getting even darker with each passing second as clouds roll in and smother the stars. Eventually, quick flashes of lightning begin to illuminate his dark bedroom, and are followed by low rumbles of thunder in the distance.

 

Loki sighs again, restless, and thinks of Thor.

 

Just as his eyelids finally begin to close, a figure quietly enters his bedroom, and Loki sits up faster than he would like to admit. “Does he…?” Loki trails off, though he looks up at Balder hopefully.

 

“Yes,” Balder says, giving Loki an amused look. “He does.”

 

Loki takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm the strange fluttering in his stomach, barely registering the expression on Balder’s face and not finding it within himself to care right now.

 

Skadi files in a moment later and shuts the door behind her. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks when she sees that Loki is still in bed. “Get dressed!”

 

Snapping into action, Loki grins and flings the covers off of his body, jumping out of bed to get ready. He is only wearing a short, white sleep shirt and small clothes, so he hurries over to open his wardrobe. “What should I –“

 

A loud crack of thunder interrupts him, and the steady sound of falling rain comes immediately after.

 

“Wear.”

 

Balder smiles sympathetically and hands Loki his cloak.

 

“Figures,” Loki growls, but throws it on with little fuss. He then grabs the cream-colored leggings that he had been wearing just before bed and pulls them on, scowling as he does so.

 

“The king will find you beautiful just as you are,” Balder assures him sweetly before he can get too worked up. “He would be blind not to.”

 

Loki gives a small but genuine smile in thanks as he bends down to pull on thick socks and lace up his boots.

 

Once dressed, Skadi styles his hair for him, even though it is bound to get ruined in a few minutes, and then the three of them sneak downstairs to the main hall where a soaking wet Ullr is waiting for them. They pause at the base of the stairs, and Balder and Skadi fix Loki’s hood and give him looks of encouragement — or in Skadi’s case, a warning — before gently nudging him towards Ullr.

 

It strikes Loki as interesting that they do not feel the need to subtly threaten Ullr anymore, but he does not question it, too busy taking in how positively drenched Ullr actually is and wanting to throw a tantrum at the knowledge that soon he will be in the exact same state.

 

“Just great,” he mutters angrily once he is right in front of Ullr, and Ullr has the nerve to turn sad eyes on him. “Not _you_ ,” Loki amends with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t want to get wet, is all.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Ullr replies, clearly just as annoyed about the situation as Loki is, and Loki nearly barks out a laugh. It seems that the messenger can emote beyond nervousness and fear, after all.

 

When they first step out into the shockingly cold, driving rain, made all the worse by the swirling wind that accompanies it, they both groan and share an unhappy look before swiftly exiting the harem grounds. But instead of hurrying towards the palace, Ullr leads him on the path towards the stables instead.

 

Just when Loki is about to risk drowning by opening his mouth and asking why, he looks ahead and is able to make out a tall, armored figure standing in front of the stables, red cape blowing in the wind behind him. But when a particularly bright flash of lightning illuminates the king for one brief, picturesque moment, Loki’s mouth opens anyway — though for reasons he would rather not admit.

 

The closer they get to Thor, the more nervous Loki feels, and he finds himself crossing his arms and watching his feet as they jog rather than blinking through the rain at Thor.

 

And then they get within a few feet of the stables, and the rain suddenly stops. Loki’s head snaps up, and he looks around, puzzled, before realizing that it is still raining everywhere but around Thor, extending about six feet in every direction to form a dry circle with Thor in the very center.

 

“Loki,” Thor greets, a bright smile on his face.

 

Loki looks Thor up and down, taking in his completely dry form, and then gives him a look that is downright murderous.

 

“What?” Thor asks, smile fading.

 

“I’m _wet_!” Loki yells. He gestures at Ullr. “ _We’re_ wet! And it’s all your fault!”

 

Ullr looks back and forth between the two of them, wide-eyed, but Thor only looks amused by Loki’s outburst. “If I recall, you didn’t seem to mind being in the rain when –“ he abruptly cuts himself off, eyes nearly matching the size of Ullr’s, and Loki furrows his brows in confusion.

 

“Huh?”

 

Thor clears his throat. “Nothing. Come inside, both of you,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “We’ll talk in there.”

 

Loki glares daggers at Thor’s back as he follows him inside the stables, ignoring Ullr’s worried looks.

 

As soon as Thor closes the door behind them, Loki immediately opens his mouth to begin yelling some more, but then he notices Thor’s outfit. The king is wearing a practical set of armor, a more casual version of what he was wearing in the alcove; but what captures Loki’s attention is the lack of sleeves. Thor’s arms are completely bare and, upon properly taking this in, Loki’s jaw drops even further.

 

Thor’s forearms may be impressive, but his upper arms are something else entirely — big, bulky, perfectly sculpted muscle, like nothing Loki has ever seen before. These are the arms that carry Mjolnir, that brutally decimate Asgard’s enemies. Arms that could break Loki in two, tear him to pieces without so much as breaking a sweat; can hold Loki in place and pin him down and probably carry him, too, as if he weighs no more than a feather.

 

Sleeves simply do not do the man justice, Loki decides, and feels that fluttering sensation in his stomach again.

 

But he has neither forgotten nor forgiven Thor’s slight against him — the rain, that is, though he could probably compile a pretty long list of slights by Thor if he set his mind to it —so he snaps his jaw shut and resumes glaring at Thor, and is proud of himself for recovering so quickly.

 

“I apologize for the rain,” Thor tells them, as if he is not really sorry at all.

 

“You need not apologize to me, my king,” Ullr is quick to assure.

 

“You apologize?” Loki asks flatly, carefully keeping his eyes above Thor’s neck. “Really?”

 

“The storm is to keep people indoors,” Thor explains with narrowed eyes towards Loki, “and also to help hide you from sight should anyone decide to look out a palace or harem window.”

 

“Oh,” Loki says quietly after a moment, though he continues to scowl at Thor out of principle.

 

Thor rolls his eyes at him. “Come along, then. Ullr, wait here.”

 

“Yes, your majesty,” Ullr says with reverence — and really, Loki thinks, if anyone is a traitor, it is Ullr, the little sycophant.

 

Loki says none of this out loud, of course, but he sends Ullr a nasty look and delights in the shocked and hurt expression he receives in return, like that of a kicked puppy.

 

He does not realize until afterwards that Thor witnessed the entire exchange, and the look on the king’s face has Loki taking a cautious step backwards and averting his eyes sheepishly.

 

“I said come along,” Thor growls, and then turns and begins walking, as if he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Loki will obey him.

 

The most infuriating part, Loki thinks, is that he is right.

 

He intends on following behind Thor and sulking, but Thor knowingly reaches back and grabs his wrist, pulling Loki up to walk alongside him.

 

“Ullr is a nice boy,” Thor says gruffly as soon as they are out of earshot, “one who knows his place and does as he is told — unlike _some_ people.” He gives Loki a pointed look before continuing, “He does not deserve your wrath.”

 

“ _Knows his place_?” Loki echoes incredulously, coming to a stop and jerking his wrist out of Thor’s grasp.

 

Thor also halts and gives him a challenging smirk. “You heard me.”

 

Loki thinks for a moment before grinning meanly. “Has he told you about the time he saw me naked?”

 

Thor’s reaction is so comical that Loki nearly bursts out laughing and ruins the whole thing. “ _He what_?!”

 

“You heard me.”

 

Thor growls and grabs Loki by the shoulders, arms flexing attractively as he holds him. “What are you talking about? Did he…” Thor’s head turns back towards the direction they came from, and he looks about ready to charge back and murder Ullr with his bare hands. “Did he try anything –“

 

“Oh, calm down,” Loki replies flippantly. “The night we interrogated the prisoner, Ullr found me with Balder and Skadi in the bathhouse. I was just starting to wrap a towel around my waist when he awkwardly made his presence known.” Loki laughs. “You should have seen his face! I’ve never seen anyone look so –“

 

“You’re horrible,” Thor mutters, and lets go of Loki’s shoulders.

 

He says it weakly, but for some reason it still sets Loki off. His grin slips off his face, only to quickly be replaced with a sneer. “Well, if Ullr is so _wonderful_ , then why don’t you just marry _him_?”

 

As if they have not just been fighting, Thor grins and runs his eyes up and down Loki’s form lewdly. “I do not find Ullr sexually appealing,” he says, and then accompanies his words with a wink.

 

Loki’s lips part. “What?”

 

Thor chuckles deeply, and Loki’s stomach turns in a not entirely unpleasant way.

 

“Come,” Thor says, and begins walking again — this time around in much better spirits.

 

But Loki just stands there, staring after Thor and wondering if the king actually just implied what Loki thinks he just implied.

 

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I must,” Thor warns without turning around.

 

Loki’s jaw drops in indignation this time. “You wouldn’t dare!” he calls after Thor foolishly, but rushes to catch up with him just in case.

 

Thor smirks at him, but Loki refuses to play his games any longer. Instead, he holds his head high and his shoulders back, and keeps his eyes straight ahead of him — just as Skadi has taught him. His change in demeanor does not go unnoticed, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Thor glance over at him every few seconds; but he pretends not to notice.

 

Soon, however, Loki’s curiosity gets the best of him, so he adapts a bored tone and asks, “Where are we going?”

 

“You’ll see,” is the cryptic reply he receives, but Loki manages to keep his aggravation to himself. He will not give Thor the satisfaction of goading him so easily.

 

“What about the stable hands?” he then asks, finally remembering to soften his voice as to not wake any sleeping animals.

 

“I sent them and any nearby guards away hours ago,” Thor answers in his own quiet tone. “Told them I wanted to be alone.”

 

Loki raises his eyebrows. “Won’t they be suspicious?”

 

“I’ve made stranger demands,” Thor says with a shrug, and Loki has to bite his lip to keep from making any smart remarks. “My father even more so. Besides, I’ve been known to take solitary walks around and inside the stables late at night.”

 

He then leers over at Loki. “But you already know about that… firsthand.”

 

Loki does not rise to the bait — he does not even look at Thor to glare at him — but even with his hood up, there is still no hiding his pursed, angry lips or the deep flush staining his cheeks; and so he turns his nose up higher and ignores Thor when he chuckles softly beside him.

 

The further they walk the winding paths of the enormous stables, the more distinctively uncomfortable Loki becomes — and not because of Thor. The dull heat is doing very little to warm up Loki’s still-dripping self, and neither are his wet clothes helping matters.

 

After wrestling with his options for a few moments — because taking off his cloak when the clothing beneath is completely drenched and possibly see-through is simply out of the question — Loki lowers his hood despite the risk of Thor making fun of his hair and rolls the sleeves of his cloak up to his elbows before wrapping his arms around himself in discomfort.

 

Thor watches the entire display, and then dully asks, “Are you cold?”

 

Loki’s head whips to the side to glare at Thor before he can stop himself. “ _I’m wet_!”

 

“So you’ve told me already,” Thor says, and laughs as Loki’s glower deepens in response. Then Thor halts them both with a hand on Loki’s arm and, before Loki has time to react, yanks open Loki’s cloak and takes in the sleep shirt and leggings sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

 

Wide-eyed, Loki looks down at his near transparent clothing and then up at Thor before he reclaims himself and jerks away.

 

“You must have known it was raining before you left the harem,” Thor continues on, as if indifferent to Loki’s reaction. “Why wear such flimsy clothing?”

 

“It’s a _harem_ , your majesty,” Loki says with a sneer, wrapping his cloak more firmly around his body to shield himself from Thor’s wandering eyes. “It’s not like they supply us with armor or anything.”

 

Then, just to get back at Thor, he shakes his head not unlike that of a dog, letting water droplets fly from his hair and onto Thor. Thor stares at him in utter disbelief, one eyebrow raised; but Loki just smiles serenely up at Thor as he wrings the rest of the water out of his hair.

 

“Are you done?” Thor implores flatly after a moment.

 

“Almost.” Loki combs through his locks with his fingers before smoothing his hair back, taking his sweet time in doing so. The gel has held relatively well, though there are a few strands for Loki to tuck behind his ears.

 

“All right, now I’m done,” he announces once finished, looking up at Thor smugly.

 

But instead of the expected displays of irritation, Thor just smiles at him, softly and fondly, causing Loki to frown.

 

Then the king begins to unclasp his cape.

 

“What are you doing?” Loki asks warily.

 

“Here,” is all Thor says, and before Loki can process what is happening, Thor is wrapping the cape around Loki’s shoulders and chest.

 

The long, thick fabric is heavier than it looks, and it appears to swallow Loki’s thin frame whole as it envelops him in its warmth. It is basically a pointless gesture, as Loki’s clothes beneath are still cold and wet; yet somehow, he immediately feels a little drier, a little less cold.

 

Strangely enough, he feels safer, too, as if Thor himself is wrapped around Loki.

 

While Thor is focused on his task of cocooning Loki in his cape, Loki looks up at Thor’s face, only inches from his own, and takes in the pretty eyelashes that almost do not belong on such a handsome face, as well as neatly-groomed whiskers that frame his chiseled features beautifully and look softer than they have any right to look.

 

The king is truly the pinnacle of masculine beauty, Loki decides, and is surprised to find that he is not even jealous of him — not for this. Loki may be self-conscious about his appearance and overly critical of his self-perceived flaws, but he knows that he is not meant for the type of beauty that Thor possesses.

 

And looking upon Thor now, Loki can admit to himself that he feels something more than mere admiration for Asgard’s king.

 

He is just not sure what it is, exactly.

 

“There we are,” Thor murmurs, obviously satisfied with his work.

 

He then looks up and locks eyes with Loki, and suddenly time seems to slow down again. It is just like before, Loki recalls, when Thor had him pinned in the alcove and stared into his eyes for several seconds, as if in a trance.

 

Well aware of Thor’s hands curled around his upper arms, and unsure of what to say or do, Loki nervously licks his lips — and is struck by the way Thor’s eyes are immediately drawn to his mouth as a result.

 

But then Thor coughs and looks away, letting his hands fall awkwardly at his sides. “I, uh… let’s go.”

 

He starts walking again, and Loki follows without a fuss this time, stealing quick glances at the king whenever he can. This time it seems as though Thor is the one who refuses to look at Loki, but Loki cannot find it in himself to be amused right now. He desperately wants to ask what just happened, but he finds himself afraid of the answer; and so he files it away instead, so that he can analyze it later and maybe ask Balder and Skadi for any theories and explanations they might have.

 

The smell of the stables, while as clean as can be, is not exactly the most pleasant of smells; yet as Loki dips his head and breathes in the red cloth covering him, he can only sigh happily at its scent — fresh and clean and masculine, earthy and wood-like but with a metallic undertone, too.

 

It smells like a storm, Loki realizes — like a thunderstorm in the middle of a forest, frightening in its power and capability for destruction yet so impossibly beautiful that one cannot dare to look away.

 

The realization brings a gentle smile to his lips, and he lets out another soft, pleased sigh.

 

Feeling eyes on him, Loki looks over at Thor again, just in time to see Thor’s head jerk away from him in a futile attempt to not get caught staring. Loki is pretty sure that what he is seeing is an actual red flush creeping up Thor’s neck, though it could just be his eyes playing tricks on him in the dim lighting.

 

“Can I ask you about something?” Loki begins, barely even noticing that they are entering the wing where the servants’ horses are kept.

 

“Of course,” Thor says, looking back over at Loki in curiosity.

 

“Everybody has their own theory as to how you control the storms. Some say you use seidr to do it, while others claim that the storms are based on the state of your emotions.” Loki pauses. “I don’t subscribe to the second theory, personally, because…”

 

“Because why?” Thor prods, though not unkindly.

 

Loki chooses his words carefully. “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, your majesty, but the night of the… of your divorce, it did not rain. And I never heard any thunder. I would have, too, because I was awake much of the night…” he trails off awkwardly, already regretting bringing it up.

 

But thankfully, Thor does not appear angry at all, and is staring at him contemplatively. “You want to know how I call the storms,” he surmises, and Loki nods eagerly.

 

“I can’t tell you.”

 

Loki’s mouth opens. “What? Why not?”

 

Thor smiles wryly. “Top secret information.”

 

Loki groans, completely aware of how desperate he is about to seem. “Please, your majesty, I won’t tell anyone! I’ve always wanted to know how you do it, and nobody seems to have the definitive answer. My uncle thinks it’s definitely something you can control at will, which –“

 

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Thor asks, barely containing his laughter at this point.

 

“I’m a sorcerer,” Loki deadpans. “We’re curious by nature _and_ profession.”

 

Thor hums. “Curious, indeed.”

 

“Are you making fun of me?”

 

“Loki.”

 

“You are, aren’t you?”

 

“Loki, look –“

 

“Why must you always insist on –“

 

“ _Loki_.” Thor’s smile widens into a grin, and Loki suddenly realizes that they have stopped walking again. “Look behind you.”

 

A familiar neigh is then heard, and Loki slowly looks over his shoulder and locks eyes with one he has not seen in months, and did not expect to see for many more.

 

He gasps, and then he is running and pressing his body up against the stall before throwing his arms around Svadilfari’s neck. “Svadilfari,” he breathes, burying his face into the stallion’s black fur and inhaling his familiar, comforting scent.

 

Svadilfari will not stay still, though, wanting to see Loki’s face, and so Loki reluctantly pulls back so he can look his best friend in the eyes again. “Oh Svad, I’ve missed you so, so much,” Loki tells him, and plants a long kiss to his nose.

 

In response, Svadilfari licks him, again and again until Loki is giggling.

 

Footsteps are heard behind them, and Svadilfari remembers Thor’s presence before Loki does, tensing and letting out angry puffs of air. “It’s all right, Svad,” Loki soothes. “He’s fine.” Loki looks over his shoulder at Thor. “He’s safe.”

 

Thor swallows and takes another step forward. “Loki –“

 

Svadilfari knickers, and Loki looks back at him and lets out a laugh. “You know I can’t let you do that, Svad.” A pause, and then, “Because, that’s why!”

 

“Are you… are you having a _conversation_ with him?” Thor asks slowly.

 

“He’s not going to hurt me, I promise.” Loki turns to the side and gives Thor a pointed look. “Right?”

 

“I… right.” Thor slowly walks over until he is close enough to touch Loki, but still out of the way of Svadilfari’s bared teeth. “I would never hurt him,” he swears to Svadilfari.

 

With his flattened ears and angrily swishing tail, Svadilfari does not look to be particularly convinced; and Loki presses his lips together to keep from laughing at the stare-down the king of Asgard is having with his horse.

 

“He would charge at me were it not for this stall, wouldn’t he?” Thor eventually mutters, a humorless smile on his face as he continues to stare at Svadilfari warily.

 

“He’s protective of me,” Loki explains proudly, without a hint of apology.

 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Thor says flatly.

 

In this moment, Loki does not feel sad, angry, weak, or hopeless; and his worries and fears are not at the forefront of his mind as they usually are. Rather, standing in the dark stables with Svadilfari and Thor, Loki feels something he has not felt so strongly in months, now: happiness.

 

But in pure Loki fashion, once he recognizes such a positive emotion, he immediately becomes suspicious of it.

 

“How did you know?” he asks Thor abruptly, and then ducks his head a little. “I mean, how did you know that Svadilfari…”

 

“You said that your horse is kept here when your uncle is working,” Thor explains. “So I chose a night that he would be here to –“

 

“Why?” Loki does not mean for his tone to be so sharp, but he cannot help it — and it just makes him feel more foolish and immature than usual. He should be glad that Thor would go the extra mile to bribe him into helping, that Thor would respect and value his advice so much.

 

But instead, he finds himself feeling hurt for some reason.

 

“I just thought –“

 

“You thought what? That you had to… to bribe me into helping you? That you –“

 

“Loki, no,” Thor says gently, sliding his hand around Loki’s neck. “It’s true that I need your help, but that’s not why I did this, I promise you.”

 

Loki blinks. “Then why did you?”

 

Thor hesitates, looking torn about something, and Loki holds his breath in anticipation. “You’ve mentioned more than once, now, how some of the girls at the harem have been giving you a hard time,” Thor says slowly. “I thought… I thought you might be lonely. And I knew from our first meeting that your… that Svadilfari is very important to you…”

 

“He’s my best friend,” Loki admits quietly, and Svadilfari sighs in agreement.

 

Loki is relieved when Thor does not laugh at him, but the look he gives Loki is frustrating nonetheless. It is not pity, not exactly; but there is still some kind of sadness there, Loki thinks, along with other emotions that Loki cannot place.

 

But still, the gesture, while strange, may be the nicest thing anyone outside of Angrboda has ever done for Loki.

 

So before Thor can say anything else, Loki gifts him with a soft, genuine smile, and quietly says, “Thank you.”

 

It takes a moment, but then Thor gives him a seemingly nervous, pleased smile of his own, and gently squeezes the nape of his neck. “You’re welcome.”

 

Svadilfari nips playfully at Loki’s nearby hand, not wanting to be ignored, and so Loki dutifully returns to petting wherever he can reach, for his sake just as much as Svadilfari’s.

 

Thor’s hand falls away from Loki a moment later, though he continues to stay almost inappropriately close. With most people, such closeness would make Loki uncomfortable; and before tonight he would at least feel nervous with Thor being in his personal space like this, if not afraid. In fact, Loki thinks as he looks at the empty space of wall beside Svadilfari’s stall, it was only about four months ago that Thor nearly scared him to death by catching him and pinning him there, caging him in with his impressive arms.

 

But tonight he finds that he quite likes Thor standing so close to him —though that does not stop Loki from blushing at the memory of that night, and the utter humiliation of it all. It is amazing that he is even able to look Thor in the eye after that night, truly.

 

To his horror, Thor follows his gaze, and then a grin so lecherous overtakes his face and causes Loki to blush even further. “Shut up,” Loki says, glaring at him.

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Thor cries, but ruins it by shaking with silent laughter.

 

Loki huffs and looks back at Svadilfari. “So,” he begins after a moment, hoping to get Thor’s mind onto other things, “shall we discuss business, your majesty?”

 

Thor suddenly turns serious. “It’s about the traitors,” he says in hushed tones, and Loki tenses and looks at him worriedly.

 

“Has there been another attack?”

 

“No, no — nothing like that. But I’ve been trying to figure out who the others could be –“

 

“Look, here’s what you need to do,” Loki says with a heavy sigh. “Have someone you know you can trust keep a detailed record of everyone who spends time in King Odin’s archive –“

 

“I already did that!”

 

“Really?” Loki asks, not bothering to hide his surprise.

 

Thor glowers at him. “Yes, really.”

 

“Then you should also –“

 

“Let me tell you everything I know first, all right?” Thor says sharply, and Loki has the decency to lower his eyes.

 

Thor sighs. “Thank you. It all started the night of the feast, when we spoke at the harem wall.” Thor clears his throat, and Loki runs his fingers through Svadilfari’s long mane as he patiently waits for him to continue.

 

“I lied to you,” Thor confesses, “when I said I wanted fresh air. That’s what I told everyone, but the truth is that I was following two of my advisors.”

 

“Which two?” Loki asks, and then immediately cringes. “Sorry.”

 

Thor huffs, but Loki sees him smile faintly out of the corner of his eyes. “Njord and Vinar.”

 

“Never heard of them,” Loki says, already forgetting himself again. Svadilfari snorts.

 

“Njord and Vinar are not friends; in fact, they have been known to argue in council meetings in the past. But lately they have been quiet — well, Vinar is always quiet, but they haven’t been speaking against one another — and then the night of the feast I saw the two of them whispering and leaving together, and far earlier than they normally would. So, I followed them from a distance, and…”

 

“And what?” Loki asks a few moments later when Thor says nothing, turning to Thor with furrowed brows.

 

Thor places a hand at the back of his own neck and looks away. “I got… distracted.”

 

Loki understands a few seconds later. “You mean you abandoned a potential lead by stopping to talk to me,” he surmises, and makes himself sound annoyed.

 

And he is annoyed — kind of. He is also strangely pleased, and flattered; but he tries not to show it because it was a dumb move on Thor’s part, and Loki should not encourage such things.

 

“Maybe,” Thor mumbles, and Loki sighs and exchanges exasperated looks with Svadilfari.

 

“So, then what happened?”

 

“I approached Njord the next day and commented on him leaving early –“

 

“Oh, you _didn’t_ ,” Loki groans.

 

“I’m a good actor!” Thor protests. “He suspects nothing. Trust me.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Would you shut up for five seconds?” Thor snaps.

 

“Don’t be rude,” Loki says, but bites down on his lip when Thor looks close to his breaking point.

 

“Anyway,” Thor continues with a roll of his eyes, “he claimed that he stepped out for a bit of fresh air but returned minutes later, and that I must have been…” Thor clears his throat again. “Been too drunk, as usual.”

 

“But you weren’t drunk,” Loki says once he is sure that it is safe. “Were you?”

 

“No,” Thor answers. “I wasn’t. Not that night.”

 

“He lied to you,” Loki says, knowing better than to comment on Thor’s history of drinking right now.

 

“Yes,” Thor agrees.

 

“He lied to you, his king,” Loki continues, finding himself mad on Thor’s behalf. “To your _face_.”

 

“I know,” Thor says bitterly. “I highly suspect it’s not the first time he’s lied to my face, either. Who knows how many people I trust are lying to me.”

 

Loki has to quickly look away, then, unable to meet Thor’s eyes. The whole thing is completely laughable.

 

He, Loki of Jotunheim, mad at others for lying to Thor.

 

How utterly pathetic, he thinks disdainfully. Clearly he has reached a new low with such hypocrisy.

 

“What about the other advisor?” he asks, hopefully before Thor can notice his odd reaction.

 

“I had Bragi, the head palace librarian, keep a detailed record of who entered my father’s archive, when they arrived and how long they stayed there. According to him, Vinar has been spending hours in there at night — alone. Heimdall, who is keeping a close eye on both of them, confirmed it for me.”

 

“Do you know what kind of texts he read?”

 

“Bragi was unable to get a good look at most of it without causing suspicion, but one of the books he spotted Vinar reading was about blood rituals.” Loki makes a face that has Thor nodding grimly. “Exactly. And Vinar has never so much as implied that he practices seidr.”

 

“Has Heimdall seen them meet since the feast?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then they probably wait until –“ Loki cuts himself off and looks wide-eyed at Thor. “I just remembered something!”

 

“What?” Thor demands excitedly.

 

“The night of the feast, I was sitting in that tree for at least an hour before you came out –“

 

“Go on,” Thor presses.

 

“And at one point I saw four men –“

 

“Four men what?!”

 

“Now who’s interrupting? Four men sneaking off into the east woods.” Loki shrugs. “Maybe it was nothing, but I thought it strange at the time. They looked like they did not wish to be –“

 

“Seen?”

 

Loki glares at Thor. “Yes.”

 

“Did you notice anything interesting about them? Were any of them guards, or servants?”

 

“I don’t know,” Loki tells him honestly. “It was dark, and I did not look that closely.”

 

“Do you remember how long that was before I spoke with you?”

 

Loki shrugs. “A good while, I think. I wasn’t paying attention.”

 

Thor sighs. “It probably wasn’t Njord and Vinar, then.”

 

“Maybe Njord and Vinar were going to meet those four,” Loki suggests.

 

Thor does not reply this time, but he looks troubled.

 

“Here’s what you should do,” Loki says a minute later, after grabbing a handful of nearby oats to stick under Svadilfari’s nose and letting him mouth at his palm happily. “Hold a small banquet for your advisors — do not invite warriors or anyone else — and pretend to get terribly drunk. Then wait and see what Njord and Vinar do. If they leave together — and it would be a perfect opportunity to do so — I will be waiting –“

 

“First of all, _no_. You will be doing nothing of the sort.”

 

“ _Fine_. Instruct Heimdall to watch them, then. If they go into the east woods together, he will tell you. And then you can feign drunken exhaustion, excuse yourself from the banquet, and go after them.”

 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Thor allows after a moment, and Loki smirks. “But I may as well wait until the midsummer feast, which is in a few weeks. I could be more convincing in front of a larger crowd, I think; and a banquet with just my advisors would probably only serve to make them more suspicious.”

 

“All right,” Loki complies with a shrug. “The midsummer feast. There you go.”

 

“But you will have no part in this after tonight,” Thor says sternly.

 

“Right,” Loki says, and smiles as Svad licks his palm clean.

 

“I _mean_ it, Loki.”

 

“Of course you do. And I will obey you, oh majestic ruler of mine.”

 

“I don’t like your tone,” Thor mutters unhappily, and Loki takes great pleasure in laughing at him.

 

“Your majesty, _please_. I have better things to do than to follow you around in the middle of the night on some sort of spy mission.”

 

“Like washing your hair?” Thor quips. “Filing your nails? Being pampered within every inch of your –“

 

“I work hard!” Loki defends, forgetting to lower his voice. Wincing, he continues more quietly, “I’m practically worked like a _slave_ –“

 

Thor cuts him off with a bark of laughter. “Oh, yes,” he teases, grabbing one of Loki’s hands and holding it up to inspect. “Soft skin, clean nails, fingers free of calluses and blisters — clearly the hand of a slave.” Loki tries to pull his hand away, but Thor only holds on tighter. “And such pale skin, too! How _do_ you stay so comely and fair while toiling away in the fields?”

 

Loki takes his other hand, slick with Svadilfari’s spit, and wipes it on Thor’s forearm until he lets go. “I worked hard for these cuticles, I’ll have you know. And I’d like to see _you_ endure the abuse that is Skadi teaching good posture.”

 

Thor eyes his shiny forearm in disgust before looking Loki up and down. “I thought something seemed different about you.”

 

Loki falters at the look in Thor’s eyes. “Yes, well… I styled my hair differently, too.”

 

Thor smiles. “I noticed. I like it.”

 

Loki blushes, but then he catches himself and meets Thor’s gaze proudly. “Thank you.”

 

It hits Loki that they are standing even closer, now, if such a thing is possible. He would only have to lean in slightly for his chest to brush against Thor’s.

 

Deciding to experiment a little, Loki chews on his bottom lip until Thor’s gaze lands on his mouth; and then he slowly, carefully licks his lips, all the while looking up at Thor through his eyelashes.

 

Thor stares open-mouthed for a few seconds, eyes flitting between Loki’s shiny lips and hooded gaze, before he starts a little and takes a step back.

 

Curious indeed, Loki thinks with a touch of awe. That is definitely a flush creeping up Thor’s neck.

 

“We should, uh… we should probably go,” Thor stammers.

 

The words were inevitable, but Loki cannot hide his sad expression from Thor. “Give me a moment,” he pleads softly, and then turns back to Svadilfari. “I love you, Svad,” he whispers, and wraps his arms around Svadilfari’s neck again.

 

He is hyperaware of Thor’s eyes on him this time, but he does not let that deter him from giving Svadilfari a proper farewell for a change.

 

“We’ll see each other again soon,” he tells his best friend, leaning back just enough that he can nuzzle at his face. “I promise.”

 

Svadilfari is strangely quiet and calm during their goodbye, but his eyes are as alert as ever. Loki knows that he is equally distraught, but knows and accepts the fact that Loki has to go.

 

Loki blinks several times in succession to keep his tears at bay. “Take care of Angrboda for me.” He then stands on his tiptoes and kisses Svadilfari’s forehead, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger for a few seconds.

 

Thor makes no movement nor sound, but the moment Loki pulls back from Svadilfari, a large, powerful hand curls around Loki’s smaller one.

 

Startled, Loki looks up at Thor with watery eyes; but rather than laugh or appear to think Loki childish for showing such emotion, Thor just smiles softly at him.

 

“Come,” he then says, kinder than he ever has before, and Loki sends Svadilfari one last sad smile before turning away.

 

As they begin their walk back, Loki looks down at where their hands are joined together. It is not the first time that they have held hands, but Loki still marvels at the feeling of it, at the look of his right hand firmly encased in Thor’s left.

 

Thor’s hands differ from Loki’s in the same way that everything else about him does: his hands broad where Loki’s are thin, tan where Loki’s are pale, hardened and calloused where Loki’s are soft and smooth, and strong where Loki’s are delicate.

 

That is not to say that Loki’s hands are weak, however — no matter what Thor may think. His fingers are long and dexterous, his grip is firm, and his reflexes are incredibly sharp for one who is untrained in fighting. And when his magic is not bound, his hands serve as incredibly potent outlets for sorcery, second only to his mouth.

 

But Thor’s hands are something else entirely.

 

He should probably be afraid, Loki thinks as his eyes surreptitiously travel the length of Thor’s arm from wrist to shoulder. With Thor’s brute strength, one good squeeze could probably break each and every bone in Loki’s hand; yet his grip, while firm, is always surprisingly gentle, Loki finds.

 

Warm. Safe.

 

And so Loki not only lets Thor hold his hand without complaint, but he actively holds onto Thor’s as well; and only a small part of him mourns the loss of his dignity.

 

“Angrboda,” Thor says suddenly, startling Loki again.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Your uncle. What is he… may I ask what he is like?”

 

“You may.”

 

Thor mock-scowls at him, and Loki gives him an impish smile in reply. “All right, let’s try this again. What is your uncle like?”

 

“He is…” Loki pauses, looking ahead as he thinks of how to answer. No one has ever asked him that before. “He is _amazing_. Kind, compassionate, the smartest person I know and the bravest, too. He’s taught me so much, given me everything he can.”

 

“It sounds like he really loves you.”

 

“He does.” Loki smiles. “He didn’t have to take me in, could have abandoned me a long time ago… but he didn’t. He’s too good for me, really, and so much more than I deserve –“

 

“No.”

 

Loki looks at Thor in confusion. “What?”

 

“That’s not true,” Thor says. “I don’t… I mean, I have yet to meet your uncle, but I know you, Loki. And you… you deserve everything.” Loki’s lips part, his eyebrows rising in surprise, and Thor swallows. “Everything good.”

 

The look in Thor’s eyes is so intense this time that Loki has to look away. He has no idea how to respond to that, so he awkwardly continues on about Angrboda, “I thank the Norns everyday for blessing me with him. He’s stubborn and strict and overprotective, but…” Loki shrugs and smiles. “I love him.”

 

Thor is quiet for a long moment, and then, “And your parents?”

 

Loki knows that he is trying to ask if his parents are still alive, or if he knows them. He quickly decides that he does not want to lie to Thor, not about this. “Angrboda is my parent,” he replies instead, and it is true.

 

Laufey is his dam, or mother, and Farbauti his sire and father. And Loki loves them with all his being.

 

But Angrboda is his parent.

 

“I should like to meet him,” Thor announces, and Loki panics.

 

“No, you don’t,” he spits out before he can think.

 

“What?”

 

“…I just meant that there’s no need,” Loki says, and gives Thor what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

 

It does not seem to work, though, as Thor narrows his eyes suspiciously. “And why not?”

 

“Well, you have very little in common, and –“

 

“ _Loki_.”

 

Loki sighs and looks away. “Like I said, Angrboda is… protective. Really, really protective. Much more so than Svadilfari.” He takes a breath. “Ridiculously protective.”

 

Thor’s laugh is booming. “And that’s supposed to scare me off? I’ve dealt with more than a few overprotective fathers in my day, you know.”

 

Loki feels a flash of anger for some reason, and he glowers at Thor. “But you haven’t dealt with one such as Angrboda. Trust me on this.”

 

“If you say so,” Thor says, clearly holding back more laughter.

 

Loki sighs again. “Your majesty -“

 

“So when did Svadilfari become part of the family?”

 

Loki blinks, a bit thrown by the question. But Thor looks genuinely interested, so he answers, “My uncle acquired him when I was a young child, probably knee-high at the most. You remember when the renovations were being done around the southern wall of the city, yes?”

 

An odd expression flashes across Thor’s face, but then he nods, and so Loki continues, “Well, one day that summer, my uncle and I were out walking around the southeast corner — on our way to see about purchasing a horse, funnily enough — when we passed by where the builders were working at the time. They were using horses to help with the manual labor — big, tall breeds — but then I noticed a colt, close to maturity but not nearly strong enough for the work he was being forced to do.” Loki shakes his head. “Despite how young I was, I can remember it just like it was yesterday; seeing Svadilfari on shaky legs, his fur soaked with sweat as he was forced to carry too much weight in the hot sun… it was horrible. Even as a child, I knew he would not last much longer in such conditions.”

 

“So what happened?”

 

Loki smiles. “We locked eyes, Svadilfari and I. The next thing I know had escaped my uncle’s grasp and was running over to try to free him, leaving poor Angrboda to chase after me through the crowd.”

 

Thor snorts, though a part of him looks concerned despite the fact that Loki walks beside him now, clearly alive and well.

 

“What I didn’t plan on was the chief builder catching me just before I got to Svad, but thankfully my uncle pulled me out of the man’s reach before he could strike me… or worse. They shouted at each other for a while, Angrboda accusing the builder of animal abuse and attempting to hurt a child while he hurled insults at Angrboda and myself. It finally ended with Angrboda paying the man generously for the colt and us taking Svadilfari home.” Loki’s smile turns amused. “Angrboda had intended on buying a fully grown horse, so he wasn’t exactly pleased by the turn of events. But he knew that I fell in love with Svad the moment I saw him, and Angrboda was quickly falling for him, too; so he got over it soon enough. We took great care of Svadilfari and nursed him back to health, and it wasn’t long before he was big and strong and healthy enough to ride. He’s been with us ever since.”

 

Thor slowly brings them to another stop, looking at Loki with that soft, strange expression of his.

 

“What?” Loki asks, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He still has not deciphered that look, and wonders if Thor irritates others with it or if it is reserved solely for Loki.

 

“Would you like to meet my horse?” Thor asks.

 

“Sure,” Loki answers after a moment, nonplussed. Thor’s smile widens, and he leads Loki to the wing where the royal steeds are kept.

 

“This is nicer than my room at the harem,” Loki deadpans, looking around at the luxurious horse stalls in disbelief. Before now, he did not even know that horse stalls could be considered luxurious.

 

Each stall holds one horse but is large enough to fit several comfortably, and everything is meticulously clean — the floors are obviously swept several times a day, the walls look to be wiped down with painstaking care, the hay is either bundled up expertly or arranged in soft, almost decorative patches for the horses to lie in, and — Loki sniffs — he is pretty sure that there is some kind of floral air freshener nearby.

 

They are probably given better food than he is, too.

 

As if reading his thoughts, Thor chuckles and brings them over to a fair horse with a mane so golden and bright that Loki is forced to squint for a moment. “This is Gullfaxi.”

 

The horse in question blinks huge, pretty eyes at Loki, and just like that Loki is smitten. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to her?” he asks Thor pointedly.

 

“How did you know she’s female just by looking at her face?” Thor demands. Rather than answer, Loki just raises his eyebrows expectantly, and so a bemused Thor gestures lazily with his free hand. “Gullfaxi, this is Loki.”

 

“Hello,” Loki says to the horse, smiling at her. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

He raises his hand to touch her, but Thor swiftly reaches over and grabs his wrist. “Careful!” he exclaims. “She –“

 

“Trust me, all right?” Loki says, and opens his palm for Gullfaxi.

 

The horse studies him for a long moment, and Loki remains calm, an easy, friendly smile on his lips; and then she leans into his palm and begins to nuzzle at it.

 

“You can let go of my wrist now,” Loki says a moment later, and hears Thor let out the breath he had been holding as he slowly does as he is told. His other hand still clutches Loki’s, though, a fact that — for some reason or another — pleases Loki.

 

“She likes you,” Thor breathes out.

 

Loki raises his eyebrows. “You sound surprised.”

 

“I am,” Thor replies. “I meant no offense,” he hastily adds when Loki sends him an annoyed look. “It’s just that, besides myself and a couple of stable hands, she lets very few get close to her. But she is already comfortable around you.” He looks back and forth between Loki and Gullfaxi in amazement. “I’ve never seen her take to someone so quickly.”

 

“It must be my natural charm,” Loki comments breezily.

 

“Or my familiar cape,” Thor counters in amusement, “draped across your body.”

 

“My king, are you saying that I’m not charming?” Loki asks with a saccharine smile, and bats his eyelashes at Thor.

 

Thor’s mouth opens. “No!” And then it clicks shut. “You are certainly, uh…”

 

“Lethal?”

 

Thor narrows his eyes. “Something like that, yes.”

 

Loki smirks but turns his attention back to Gullfaxi. “She’s beautiful,” he tells Thor. “And sweet. I must admit I’m surprised that your chosen steed is a mare.”

 

“As opposed to, what… a stallion?” Loki shrugs, and Thor huffs out a laugh. “Why are you surprised? Mares are just as capable as stallions in all things, if not more so. Surely you must know this.”

 

“Of course I do. I just expected –“

 

“You just expected me to view anything male to be above all things female.” Thor shakes his head. “Well, you’re wrong.”

 

“I’m glad,” Loki replies simply.

 

A pause, and then, “My parents beat that attitude out of me long, long ago.”

 

This time Loki is the one who barks out laughter.

 

“When I first met Gullfaxi, she belonged to a man named Hrungnir, who lived in a tiny village near the northwest mountains. Hrugnir was a giant of a man; some even believed him to be a Jotun in disguise” — Loki hand stills on Gullfaxi’s neck, but he carefully keeps his eyes on her rather than Thor — “but while he may have had a little giant blood in him, he was really just a very large, very strong Asgardian with a penchant for drinking and abuse.” Relieved, Loki slowly lets himself relax again.

 

“One day some of the villagers came to the palace seeking our help, as Hrungnir had been responsible for more than one villager’s death in his drunken rages. I was still just a prince, barely an adult at the time and slowly taking on more and more responsibilities, so my father assigned me to go and investigate the situation and use my own judgment as to what to do with the man. So the villagers led me to Hrungnir’s home, where I caught him beating Gullfaxi bloody with a whip.”

 

A gasp escapes Loki’s lips, and he looks at Thor in horror. “She was just a filly at the time,” Thor explains lowly, “and apparently Hrungnir, in his cruelty, thought she should be strong enough to help plow his fields.”

 

“Poor thing,” Loki murmurs, and resumes gently petting Gullfaxi. “I don’t understand how people can be so cruel to innocent animals.”

 

“Except for Gullfaxi, I’ve never really had much of an affinity for animals,” Thor confesses, “but when I saw what he did to her, I was… I was livid.”

 

“What did you do?” Loki asks quietly.

 

“I confronted him and his wife, and found out that he abused her in even worse ways than Gullfaxi.” His jaw clenches at the memory. “So when he attacked me, I fought back. And I killed him.”

 

Loki blinks, processing this; and then his eyes harden. “Good. People like that deserve to die.”

 

Thor seems more than a little surprised by Loki’s easy acceptance, but then he nods. “I agree. But while I hate that so much pain was inflicted on Gullfaxi, I’m glad that I met her. It was a long road of recovery for her, but she has been ever faithful to me over the past few centuries, in battle and at home.” He smiles over at Gullfaxi and uses the hand not holding Loki’s to rub at her side. “She’s a true warrior — aren’t you, girl?”

 

Loki watches them for a moment, noticing how Gullfaxi relaxes even further beneath Thor’s touch, and wonders not for the first time how someone so large and imposing like Thor can be so gentle and calming when he wants to be.

 

“So you just took Gullfaxi with you after killing him?”

 

“After I made sure that his wife would be taken care of, she asked me to take Gullfaxi. She wasn’t able to take care of a filly in her condition, anyway, so I said yes — though I insisted that I pay her generously. Gullfaxi has been a member of the House of Odin ever since.”

 

Before Loki can say anything, Thor adds, “I’ll admit that it’s not quite as riveting and heroic as your tale, but –“

 

“Are you serious?” Loki interjects, flabbergasted. He is aware that he is looking up at Thor rather dreamily, and that there is no way that Thor does not notice; but he cannot bring himself to care right now. “You were so kind, and brave...“

 

“Oh, but you were much braver than I was.”

 

“How so?”

 

“I was a prince,” Thor says simply. “An adult, warrior prince with Mjolnir by my side and an army at my back should I call for them. You were but a child in the most dangerous part of the city, running to save a horse from men several times your size. You could have been killed, Loki.”

 

“So my uncle told me over and over again for months,” Loki mutters with a roll of his eyes, and Thor smiles.

 

“Still. It was a very brave, very compassionate thing to do.”

 

The sheer, undeniable respect in Thor’s expression and tone makes Loki’s cheeks warm, and his eyes flick down bashfully before meeting Thor’s gaze again. “Yes, well. I’m just glad we were able to save them.”

 

“Maybe Svad and Gullfaxi should meet one another someday,” Thor suggests.

 

Loki smiles. “I think Svad would like that.”

 

They pet Gullfaxi for another minute in silence, glancing at each other and smiling every few seconds. At one point, their hands accidentally brush and cause them both to jump a little — and why Thor’s touch produces a slight shock confounds Loki, mainly because their other hands are still firmly, comfortably holding onto one another. But it is enough for them to bid farewells to Gullfaxi and continue to where Ullr should still be waiting for them.

 

“Sometime I’ll have to show you my goats,” Thor comments with a wry grin.

 

“I hear a story in there,” Loki says, and laughs along with Thor.

 

“I shall tell it to you when I introduce you to them. We will have to wait until daylight, though, when they’re out in the fields. They are far less cranky, then.”

 

Loki is immediately struck by Thor’s choice of words. For Thor to say that he will show them to Loki in the daytime is to imply that he and Thor will someday walk together in the light of day, when anyone could see them — when people undoubtedly will see them.

 

Perhaps Thor is just referring to their One Night, which Loki supposes could start during or just before sunset; but he cannot help but hope for something more than that. But since Thor does not even seem to realize what he implied, Loki just smiles and keeps it to himself, and briefly lets himself imagine.

 

When they finally come upon Ullr, sitting off to the side on an overturned crate, the messenger takes one look at Loki — specifically, Thor’s cape wrapped around Loki’s body, and Loki’s hand entwined with Thor’s — and raises an eyebrow; but then he seems to remember himself and quickly smooths over his expression as he rises to his feet.

 

Thor ignores Ullr for the moment, though, and places his other hand at Loki’s waist to turn him so that he is facing Thor. “Thank you again, Loki, for your wise council. And for your company.”

 

Loki smiles, but then Thor turns serious. “But remember: the night of the midsummer feast, you are _not_ to interfere.”

 

Loki shrugs. “All right.”

 

“I will let you know how everything goes.”

 

“Looking forward to it.”

 

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor warns, drawing out the last letter of his name.

 

“What? I haven’t said anything!”

 

“It’s what you might _do_ that I worry about.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes. “I won’t _do_ anything, your majesty.”

 

“Promise me,” Thor demands.

 

“I promise,” Loki says in exasperation.

 

Thor searches his face for a moment but eventually nods, satisfied. “Thank you.”

 

Loki hums, and waits until Thor lets go of his waist before moving towards Ullr.

 

But Thor does not let go of his hand, and Loki is reeled back in a moment later. “What?” he whines. “I’m tired now.”

 

Thor huffs and gestures at his cape. “I’d let you take it for the night, but if you were caught with it, well…”

 

Loki lets out a dramatic sigh but allows Thor to unwrap it from his body. He has to finally let go of Loki’s hand to do so, leaving Loki’s fingers clenching awkwardly around thin air; and Loki tries not to show how much he immediately misses Thor’s hold.

 

To console himself, he allows the indulgence of watching Thor’s arms as he works, admiring each and every muscle that undulates beneath beautiful, sun-kissed skin.

 

As soon as the cape is completely off of Loki, Thor reattaches it to his own person before taking it upon himself to straighten Loki’s nearly dried cloak and draw up his hood for him, as Balder and Skadi are wont to do.

 

“You still owe me an explanation as to how you call the storms,” Loki reminds him.

 

“I _owe_ you, do I?”

 

“Yes. Yes, you do.”

 

Thor’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “Get to bed, little sorcerer.” He then nods over at Ullr.

 

When the sound of rain beating upon the stable roof does not lessen, Loki frowns at Thor. “You’re not going to call off the rain yet, are you?” he asks accusingly, hands on his hips.

 

“Not until you’re safely inside the harem, no.”

 

Loki opens his mouth to deal out a scathing reply, but Thor quickly, cheerfully adds, “Careful! Threatening the king is a serious crime, you know.”

 

Loki visibly seethes for a moment, but then gives Thor a false, sickeningly sweet smile. “Pleasant dreams, your majesty,” he says through gritted teeth, and tops it off with the most condescending half-bow he can muster.

 

It is not until Ullr is guiding Loki out the door and into the rain that he hears, “Oh, after tonight, I’m counting on it.”

 

Wide-eyed, Loki whirls around just in time to see Thor give him a suggestive grin and a wink before slamming the door in his face.

  

* * *

  

Thor laughs, and then he laughs even harder when he hears Loki’s outraged cries and curses carry through the wind and rain and thick wood of the stables door.

 

Loki becomes more hilarious with each meeting, Thor finds, whether he is trying to be or not. From his biting wit and often petulant attitude to how easy it is for Thor to rile him up and make him blush — not to mention how he looks upon Thor with such awe and then covers it up with a scowl when he thinks that Thor is looking, too sweetly naïve to realize that Thor is more than aware of every dreamy look that Loki sends his way — he makes Thor laugh harder than he has in years; and he makes his heart lighter in what has been a dark time for Thor.

 

Spending time with him, listening to his voice and hearing what he has to say, learning about some part of his life — any part, from major events to the most miniscule of details — makes Thor feel good, too. His strange little sorcerer somehow becomes even stranger with each piece of information that is revealed, and Thor is absolutely fascinated by that — fascinated by Loki.

 

He wants to know more — about growing up with Angrboda, who his friends were besides Svadilfari, what his interests are besides magic, what his hopes and fears and dreams and beliefs are.

 

He wants to dissect Loki, to strip him bare and explore every inch of his flesh, to see how his body fits beneath Thor’s, to feel what his lips feel like pressed against Thor’s lips.

 

He wants Loki.

 

A particularly loud clap of thunder sounds from outside just as Thor’s eyes widen, his grin suddenly and completely disappearing from his face.

 

“Oh no,” he mutters aloud.

 

Everything is perfectly clear to him, now, as if a fog has lifted from his mind. Why he has not realized it until now, he has no idea; maybe he has been repressing it this entire time, too distracted with other things to let himself properly think on his feelings for Loki.

 

“By the Norns,” he breathes in exasperation, slapping a hand over his face.

 

Feelings. 

 

For Loki.

 

When he finally exits the stables, he absentmindedly looks up, and then does a double take when he sees two ravens perched on the roof, unperturbed by the storm and peering down at Thor as judgmentally as ever.

 

“To Hel with both of you,” Thor growls, and imagines that they are laughing at him as he stalks away.

 

It is only when he enters the palace and drips on the marble floor that he realizes he walked in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many animals in this chapter, damn. That's what I get for making Loki something of a flower child. Thor is slow to apply Frigga’s advice, but at least he is getting somewhere! And he's finally figured out that he has a giant crush on Loki, bless him <3
> 
> But back to my note at the beginning of the chapter: again, I’m so sorry this took me especially long to write, and also that I usually do make you guys wait a long time in between updates. Some people have expressed concern that I’m abandoning this story, but I _promise_ that I will see it to completion. I’ve been writing it for a year now ~~lol oh god~~ , and it’s become my baby <3 Plus, I know exactly how the story continues and how it will end, so there’s no reason not to finish it! Trust me, you guys will be sick of me by the time all is said and done, I’m sure of it :P But, I am thinking about getting a Tumblr, partly to get more involved in the fandom but also so I can post little author updates here and there to let you guys know whenever a chapter is taking me extra long to write, or what have you. If I do decide to make one, I’ll post a link to it with the next chapter.
> 
> Annnd speaking of the next chapter, it will definitely be an exciting one! The midsummer feast, a harem visitor… lots of action to come!!
> 
> Much love to you all <3


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